My friends are laughing at my faucet face. I always walked around with a river down my cheeks. My momma told me to wipe away the water droplets round my tear duct. But how can she understand. The way she holds me tight. Is this what children are condition too? “Mommy mommy, daddy’s gone and hurt my wee wee” i cry as i scream. My momma locked me in. Told me to wipe that ugly shit off of me. The darkness consumes everything. The only echo is hollow.
I snapped out of my nightmare to realize now i’m in control. I have the knife 6 inches through her chest, my daddy says “i’m scared of you” and thats all i ever needed. Thank you mom for serving the shitty purpose of life. Now its “daddy’s turn”. “You can cry now too if you like, daddy” i feel the warmth and joy in my face returning as i watch the light in his eyes swallow the rest of his soul. Even hell wont accept this monstrosity.
“POLICE, THIS IS AGENT JOE, FROM LAPD! OPEN UP!” i scream as i am standing over the cold bodies of my family. Its been 6 hours since they all started becoming dead rot. I guess i’m in a new type of fear. The only kind that sets a faucet into motion. “HELP ME MY MOMMY AND DADDY HAS DIED, I THINK I MUST LOST MY MIND!” But not really tho.