A Killer in McDonald's

In McDonald's in Moscow (the first!) and it's fucking huge and my throat begs for life against the moistened raspberry metallic stains and pressed (sticking) to spotted white plastic. And the sounds of "other" keep pace with my thoughts and a man with a moustache sits not too far away. And grinning boys in black seek eye contact, but I look back down because I remember what has been revealed and I remember what can never be taken back and I remember the glassy-eyed irritation against her pinstriped and rained upon denim shirt...

They all know. And beaded blue and silver only lead to more devastation. And I have discovered how easy it is to become the selfish one... to break people like puppets all around me and to ruthlessly suck the life out of them-- leaving them crushed and straightened objects, and viewing them without feeling. No recognition.

You are alone and then you think that the pain is all yours and they abandon you and cry in their caves, licking the wounds that you ripped int heir chests.

And I have been so objectified. And I have seen the hate in the eyes of my objects and i know that I too can kill.

I can kill in teh worst possible wan dn scream silent inside forever!!!