God, I hate you, and I have visions of mercy. I have visions of pulling you apart from the inside out, of clawing my hands into your guts and ripping out handfuls of red, bloody sinew and viscera. I have visions of spreading you open above me like a giant, grotesque slab of still-living meat. I have in my mind terrible slashing, slicing instruments and a vicious, pernicious will to violate – such hatred of you and your deprivations that I swear I never knew you. I swear, as I rip apart what’s inside, your muscles and connections and vessels and thoughts, I never hated you more.
I always hated you exactly this much.
But I can learn.
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3 comments:
I'm really uncomfortable with this post.
The author of Sundance Down and far more disturbing things understands precisely what you mean.
I think I really have to ask you about this one.
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