Bestiality is mental…yah, it’s sick.
What never was haunts me like a suffering stallion.
A broken segment ready to be put down oblivious to it’s crime.
No longer racing, sedentary and limp reminiscing it’s victories
The thing is…
To be put down can be so nostalgic. Which is where I stand in life right now.
I’ve been put down like a sick horse that can no longer compete.
Force fed and sick.
Unable to keep up with what vision was in store for the future in store of it’s full potential.
My full potential.
Bullshit. This potential has just begun and now that the race is behind me I can focus on the dying self I created in an apparition of something that generality finds fascinating when in reality it’s a present.
A glimpse of evolution.
I cry for it and stay so solid.
It is was leads me to my alloy of crimson pigmentation and release.
Such ideas are so silly. Silly girl. Silly darling.
Love, please understand and accept me.
Vulnerable, hot and obsessed with nothing crying down this road.
My legs may not work but my victories prove otherwise and the impacts on others live on.
All that is needed is a taste. My flesh and my innocence that, really, contradicts it’s intentions.
Put me down so I can move on and pierce the hearts that get in my way.
Those hearts, victims…never knew what was coming.
There was no stallion, horse, mare…only a beast.