The ghoul raised his head again. Typically with a text message at dawn.
"I miss you."
I don't miss the slimy hands or the hooked claws. I don't miss the constant rumble. I don't miss the vapid arguments.
Now I can pace the vacant corridors without white elephants in the way. Now I can lie spreadeagled. Now I can trust the dirt.
Still scraping off barnacles from the inside of my skull.
No more fez. No more Palestinian battlecrys. No more peasant bashing.
Lots more war paint. Fighting fit. Feeling comfortable in one's own skin.
Molotov's the right weight in my hand. Easier if its not double glazed. Pity about the collateral damage.
She branded my mistakes into my pale flesh with every lash of that forked tongue; while she continued giving her paedophile lover a hand. While she reminisced over the glory days of group sex with overly robust men.
And she still gets off on hand to hand combat.
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