It
Reproached by
fate, it can’t see how its actions have led to its undoing. Instead, it carelessly brags about the dark and violent inclinations it
surrenders to.
Weaving a filmy
spider’s web, it stitches together a trap of cruelty. Proud of its
distasteful behavior, it boasts hatred making me cringe whenever
it opens its mouth. Its barbed tongue slices across my
ears. Inured to violence, it feels no shame. Instead, it takes pride
in its sadism. A misogynist and a coward, it can’t
stop itself from delighting in the perversions it directs at the
woman it claims to love.
Beat by rude
blasts, its toxic rants, coloured with flatulence, pollutes the air.
Crude complaints about Emma’s sexual hang-ups never seem to end…
and like a broken record that farts over the same odious rut in the
groove: it is stuck in a spiral of carnal revulsion.
There is a void
in it. In the place where it should feel remorse for its unsavory
behavior, there is nothing but a black hole. No guilt provokes it, no
vows appease. Empathy just isn’t programmed into its hard-wiring.
Its hollowed heart, stripped of compassion, is a receptacle for the
most base desires, making it more beast than human.
Possessed by a
wanton single-mindedness it operates under a dark sexual spell,
fueled by the endless hours of porn it watches. Crude and indiscreet,
I don’t know how many times I’ve had to hold up my hand, pleading
with it to stop talking about sex. But it never heeds my words
and continues to sing the same tiresome song: a kinky lament about
Emma’s lackluster sex drive.
Ever
since they’ve gotten back together all it ever talks about is doing
her, Marquis de Sade style, up the ass. It’s so chronic, a couple
of weeks ago I lost it. I
don’t want to hear it any more.
We were shelving books in the religious studies section. It’s
like being trapped in a Tarantino film having to listen to you. God
damn it! Some things are meant to remain private.
With
menace in its eyes it glared at me. I crossed my fingers, hoping that
it might make a threatening overture: any excuse to make it eat my
fist. But then the coward’s thoughts gave way. Without mace or a
weapon within reach, it quickly simmered. Patting me on the back it
bemoaned. I
guess I am a bit obsessed. It
laughed. But
if Emma would stop being such a bitch and just give it up I wouldn’t
need to talk about it so much.
I
turned around and walked away. Under its breath I heard it mutter:
One
of these days I’m just going to take it from her.
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