Death Rattle

Orite mate. Let’s get this over with. I used on Sunday morning. It was a random hook up. My speed dealer is in prison, but I found another one. Can you imagine how notoriously difficult it is to locate another phet dealer in a small town? I met him on a park bench when I should have been in church. He gave me the proper stuff like, you know? It was beltin’. I observed black men with white women on the CeLLuloid CoRRidor. Their rhythm was hypnotic, it was totally hedonistic; I was having the time of my life. Yes, it was Laura Dark again. The way she bounces her hips upon those big schlongs! I could watch her, drugged up, for a lifetime. If it wasn’t wrong and perverse that is.

It was getting disturbing, my passion for Laura Dark. I blame her suspenders. Are they called stockings or suspenders? What’s the difference? That’s why I only write women occasionally, because I know nothing about them. The man wasn’t up to much, he wasn’t even rock hard. I’d be rock hard fantastico if I was with Laura Dark. That’s the issue. But I got bored eventually. And Precious (the girl underneath my floorboards), started begging me to stop. So I did. And I threatened to snap Laura Dark the hell up. Her DVD, I mean.

You should have seen Laura Dark’s death rattle. She appeared in my room, I swear, and said I would never ever snap her DVD up. That was when the deal was signed, sealed and delivered. How the frig does Laura Dark know what I’m going or not going to do? So confident and sure and all that when she’s nothing but a cheap slag. I snapped her up, along with several other DVDs which had been hanging around for months on end. And that’s the end of the most recent CeLLuloid CoRRidor. It has been forsaken along with dust, into the ether, into nothing. It’s going to be hard without it, but not as hard as purposely hurting Precious is. I can’t do that anymore. I just can’t.

I am starting to think about Laura Dark already again though. Her long white legs, held up in the air, as a well-endowed black man penetrates her daft! Wow. On the good drugs as well. My endorphins are flying off outside of my brain like a cheaply paid-for firework show. But it’s painful. It’s ever so painful once it’s over. When the psychosis comes in. And my perps take control. They control my motor functions, telling me when to blink and cough. The strangest thing is that I do, when told. This leads me to believe that I have been implanted. Ah well. Whatever Trevor. Try and make me stand on one leg!

One thing I’ve learned during the last bout of psychosis is that my perps take sexual pleasure from harassing me. They think I sound sexy when I’m talking to myself, and that’s why they keep tearing my mind apart by prompting me with voices. The voices are to keep me talking, and my inner voice is so alluring to them that they masturbate over it. Don’t ask me how I’ve figured this out, but I know it to be true. Hello Sexy Guy…