Whitechapel

My monument is progressing. Bereft is thy deed of completion
By all means you'll be alive. But not intact. I've sewn your lips to smile.
With your own defecation on your lips I'll knock that shit-eating grin right off your face
Abnormally disfigured designs. You observe the genesis of my abattoir. Reality accepted.
You have no choice but to comply with my scalpel. And my license to kill.
Anal seepage flowing. I can't repress the urge.
Thy coprophagist shall ingurgiate the filth.
Grinding at your head with my bone saw breaking zygoma. I love these tools at my disposal. I'm alive.
She cried out helplessly again.
I ripped her limb from fucking limb. Just one less slut to walk this fucking earth.
I will spit right in your fucking face.
How does it taste after the lips are sealed below your waist.