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Description
Fuckface's Three Words 2

Credits-
Photographer: C3 Photography, Catharina Christiana
Model: Ashley Moran

Fuckface’s Three Words
By Catharina Christiana

“Love’s a fucking cock sucking bitch, ain’t it?”
I bellow belligerently
Into his uninformed ears
My voice booming infiltrations
Into his thick impenetrable skull

Questions were only answered
With an unbearable hushed silence
He falls promptly to his knees
Clasping his hands together in prayer
I tear off the cross from his neck

With my unyielding blade
Bearing my emotional inferno and wrath
I lift his head sadistically
With a violent jolt
Informing him of each of his erroneous charges

Tears hurriedly escape the corners
Of his putrid green eyes
No longer desiring to be held back
And hidden from my sight
My voice struggles for the words I have wished so long to say

His lips quiver worriedly
To muster up a desperate retort
But before his voice could function
My knife stealthily slices
Through the layers of skin and tissue
To his bloody, broken, beating heart

His fingers slowly unquenched
A small piece of paper and a ring
Revealing the three inevitable words
I never expected from someone like him
I read the scribbled words silently in my head

“Well t’ fucking hell with that, you’re dead!”

Description
Fuckface's Three Words 2

Credits-
Photographer: C3 Photography, Catharina Christiana
Model: Ashley Moran

Fuckface’s Three Words
By Catharina Christiana

“Love’s a fucking cock sucking bitch, ain’t it?”
I bellow belligerently
Into his uninformed ears
My voice booming infiltrations
Into his thick impenetrable skull

Questions were only answered
With an unbearable hushed silence
He falls promptly to his knees
Clasping his hands together in prayer
I tear off the cross from his neck

With my unyielding blade
Bearing my emotional inferno and wrath
I lift his head sadistically
With a violent jolt
Informing him of each of his erroneous charges

Tears hurriedly escape the corners
Of his putrid green eyes
No longer desiring to be held back
And hidden from my sight
My voice struggles for the words I have wished so long to say

His lips quiver worriedly
To muster up a desperate retort
But before his voice could function
My knife stealthily slices
Through the layers of skin and tissue
To his bloody, broken, beating heart

His fingers slowly unquenched
A small piece of paper and a ring
Revealing the three inevitable words
I never expected from someone like him
I read the scribbled words silently in my head

“Well t’ fucking hell with that, you’re dead!”