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They've made it very hard for me to satisfy this pain, that burns within my soul for blood and carried by the same, distinct and evil hunger just to make some plasma spill, I recognize that I'm a lunatic and that's for real.
Now take this rainy night for instance; nothing's goin' on, the streets are dead and empty yet the hunger's goin' strong, it's been six weeks since I could go and snatch some chicken up, and desecrate her bloody body with my spilling nut.
The cops have been out in abundance; even when it pours, and that's the way I operate when seeking plenty wh0res, tonight though I must take a chance; this hunger git it down, for who would be prepared to meet a six foot six inch clown?
45 minutes later....
God it seemed had opened up the heavens truly loose, the rain was pouring heavy like a glass of fruity juice, I've walked these streets for hours searching for some thugs to bang, was 'bout to quit 'til I hit Lyons Ave. and luck just changed.
I walked past Aldine Street where they had killed my n1gga Poob, the dark and empty playground of a ghetto's little school, just amplified the voices where I heard some n1ggas' glee, camped out in Extra's parking lot; the end of Willoughby (Street).
It looked to be just three of them and this was mighty fine, I wouldn't be deterred because you see tonight was mine, I crept amongst the shadows with the rainfall masking sound, that's when I got in close enough to hear these b@st@rd clowns (no pun intended).
One was like "The cat was cryin' 'Koz don't shoot me please!', so what I do? I aimed for head and let off two or three!" The other ones were laughing as though Koz was Kevin Hart, until they saw me creep from out a crevice in the dark.
"Ahhhhh!" they screamed like females during childbirth 'cause it hurt, one of them more specific as my sharp blade cut his throat, I'm sure they all were packin' but to see the clown they froze, one swipe took off another's cabbage; TIMBER! Down he goes.
The blood that spilled was washing down the asphalt with the rain, but even seeing that did nothing much to halt the pain, that burned like gonorrhea on a off to pee, the murder show left one; I then said "Yo Koz, come with me...."
90 minutes later....
Koz was on the verge of once again just passing out, I had enough of playtime as my right hand slapped his mouth, which knocked his @ss awake and had him cryin'; spittin' blood, he sobbed real hard to see that he was tied up in a tub.
"Hmm Rmm Hm-Hm-Hm...." was all that he could holler out, 'cause he was not just tied he had a strapped red ball in mouth, think Ving Rhames in 'Pulp Fiction' gittin that d!ck up his @ss, this sick'ning sh!t is sumthin that you can't pick up in class.
Regardless Koz was paddle-less and stranded up sh!t's creek, I betchu that he thought whenever he woke up "sh!t's sweet", but right now it was sour; I was anxious for the man, to get his retribution from this chainsaw in my hand.
That's when the visions of his homies layin' dead and gone, came rushing at me like DeMarco and my head was gone, the wet and bloody asphalt made a statue of my d1ck, it must look sick; this revving chainsaw comin' at dude quick.
He closed his eyes to brace himself; get steady for the pain, but I see no real way one's prepped to feel a revving chain, I put it to his chest and oh my heavens what a treat, the chainsaw shred him quick like it was grounding up some beef.
The blood sprayed on the shower curtain and adorned the tiles, but it was not enough; so I'd be going for awhile, I amputated both his arms and legs but peep whasup, when I cut off his head that's when my soul could see the blood.
I dropped my pants down to my ankles; meat in hand to stroke, the blood made me go faster as I beat it; d@mn a joke, it doesn't get more serious; the reverie itself, so sad the only thing to ever pleasure me was death.
I got my nut and what was left of Koz went down the pit, the mice and rats were gorging heavy from the sounds of it, my bloodlust had subsided and my head was clear again, until the next time that it rains; advice? Stay clear of him....
And him is me.
©2015 The Cunning Linguist
