# Locked in gristle (I have issues)



## Dead horse (Apr 5, 2012)

They beat you, kick by kick punch by brutal punch. Pulling at your hair, only the sounds of it tearing out heard by you. You cry but its muffled out by the the blood and tears running in a stream down your throat. The pain is horrific, every time you go loose a bone is slowly snapped to re-assert the the torturous authority that suppresses your from seeking comfort. Your skin is turned to blisters riddled with gouge marks, none of which resemble a pattern or share anything in size or similarity with each other. Your death is wished for as the one that kills you wishes for more of your life to slowly squeeze never wanting that last vital drop because the look of fear in your eyes before they were swelled shut turned them on. Pain you never imagined, fluids leaking into places and spilling out you never knew existed, you can't see them but you truly know what your organs feel like as they're touched by cold sharp steel through tiny slits all along your body. Sudden jabs and a crunch and now you feel sleepy and dis-attached as what your last cognitive thought can only describe as your vessel containing thought that was once a vibrant life is shaken and then its black.

They dismember the the pile of flesh that's reminiscent of the human it once was. The warm blood begins to cool and the bulk of it still gets kicks and punches in despair for so much it could not possibly even be fathomed to describe. Every joint, every limb is met with great weight by the foot and snapped in the reversed direction in awkward heaving motions that almost make them fall over with a sudden "pop". An aggressive handsaw it used in favor over the assortment of power tools and hacksaws adorning the walls and the limbs are slowly pulled away over cooling pools of slippery blood, they then start rubbing their face on the ground licking it and rolling around on it in an almost sexual way. Covered in blood the limbs are brought to the mitre saw and then cut into quarters with a grueling ease and placed on a table covered in plastic wrap. With 10 or so fell strokes the torso is horribly butchered in half as the smell of the fecal matter spilling out to soak the blood is seen and rubbed in by the dragging of the awkward parts. With a bit of work the main sections, organs and limbs all save for heart are wrapped in plastic only exposing small splotches of blood from being wrapped with bloody hands as the shift turns to the cleaning products and the acids.

After being completely wiped down and disinfected with a light acid the table is removed to join the burn pile along with the dismembered parts, the heart place in a jar sitting next to a frying pan upstairs. They take their clothing off and adorn themselves in a bunny suit given to them by the cops after a visit to the drunk tank in their boxer shorts. Everything is hauled out where it is burnt and up stairs the heart is cooked with a lightly roasted garlic and then eaten. A soul can never be free


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