MISFITS.

In the spirit of celebrations I cannot relate to having those of my ancestors lost somewhere in history and a perfect excuse to say messed up things, let's free style on things labeled 'dark'.

I lay there holding my insides on my hands, like rolls of pasta I try to gather. She smiles and hands a bowl.
Pour them in as I lead them towards their hole. "Today just today, show mercy.
Let me pick my death."
I beg.
" No Immah, you don't get to. I shall watch you squirm, scream, cry and die. Your pain is mine to kiss, your blood shall flow on my feet, your eyes shall go black.
How many were the times you saw me die, stood in your ironically empathetic narcissistic pedal stool.
Let my tears burn my face as you sold your soul to that which brought you joy? At the prize of the power you held on me. Love I gave freely.
The favor shall be returned today as you took away my strength, I give you that in return. Today your demons shall leave. Those that keep that dark hole inside you warm. Oh what a cold feel it shall be. 

When you taste the pains you shared without any anesthetic preparation serving by your dark angels."She pushes a crucifix into my left arm and I scream. Pain fizzling through veins like the flowing cells I once was young enough to consider my strength.

For a moment I forgot. Drugged with only a will to die but for that second the drips don't matter. Only what I killed. Those I took upon self to push to their place. Accord the liberation of their soul. Logically freeing them from the bodies that caged them.

Not for a moral common good but to accord them a chance to finally glow. Hit by a slap that nudges reality, am back to my 2 day imprisoned death bed.
She continues to play. Puts her hand in my hole. I feel another dosage of holy water on my face as she grabs my heart. My soul escapes with her pull.

I open my eyes to another meat suit, in a light up room as a man records my birth.
The cycle never ends.