If you really had a daughter homie, if you started a family, it would be gross to me, and it would be gross to you, do you really want to see your daughter’s jumblies, it’s like watching a worm wanting to look pretty, that’s your little girl, you really can’t look at her that way, she’s the reason you work hard everyday, for her future, everything, do you really want to take that away, just the thought is fucking disgusting, but I'm not going to lie homie, if I was a lesser man, closer to an animal, dumb, unable to think straight, it would be lovely, if I could get away with it, but it’s like something, that goes to the least of our species, the bottom crawlers, feeding on dirt, when they’re blessed with a worm, they thank the heavens, so fucking dumb, look above you, can a pig look at the stars, is there heaven, or just the darkness, waiting, fall, piece, by piece, one day, you’ll be reduced to atoms, hell is a scary place, maybe there, if you’re so far under the dirt, it’s okay, away from the light, anything, that makes the world right, but I don’t know homie, it could be the goal, maybe we should yearn more, for dirt, for grime, maybe it’s an earned food, a consolation prize, because the heavens didn’t treat you right, maybe everyone has to feed, and the river can go in many directions, a man needs both hands, and no matter how high, no matter how low, we can’t escape the devil, the fruit passing before your eyes, they just have to push the right buttons, your daughter bends over, reveals a bit of her chest, she catches your eye, she smiles, do you like what you see, do you want to see more of it, tempting faeries, walk by the river, and this soaking wet flesh, like a soft pillow, like satin and lace, embracing you, telling you it's going to be okay, walk into the light homie, you’re gross, but you’re beautiful, it’s not your fault the world is this way, the sky, just a reflection of the ocean, and they push and pull, I’m coming in my little girl, yeah, it’s nice to fantasize about, but hell is such a real place, like art in a blender, everything is made of flesh, numb, and cold to the touch, you’ve been pushed so far, you hardly feel it anymore, so desensitized, what do the living do, when you’re burning in the light, at least you know you’re alive, but when you’ve failed at every step, and the abyss claims you, what are you, just the living dead.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.