K C Jackson
Stab me deeper; go on, deeper.
Let me feel the cold, ice-rush of steel in my chest.
Constantly shitting on me as you toss your fag butt
lit, in my face.
Take me apart.
Do you feel that you have power? You do, so feel it.
Run that blade through my skin as if it were a plough,
watch the red clay rise from the white clay ground.