This Space of Violence

This space becomes a pressing malice to which death rapes the beautiful girls into submissive screaming. There can’t be a breath of fresh pain to suffocate this kindness. Because life begins to die as soon as the breathing stops. I fume in the burning rage of salient slicing to which gages the envy. Hate keeps the blood from staining my clothes because my clothes are my nakedness. I feel not a pin prick in this gash that is my perversion . Numbness cuts this distaste against this wall of bloody suicide. So now my end is the beginning for nothing in my words describes the space of violence in my head.