Mr Mascellani's Musings

[I]I should have hurled you down the stairs, slut.
Or punched you in your pregnant gut,
then neither your daughter nor our burdens would have ever been born.[/I]

Kate-Not-Kate
stands fragmented in her bathroom
like a sentence without a verb.
A girl who's lost her metaphors.

Sh-sh- she looks in her mirrors: the splintered one, the cracked one, the whacked one.
Blood covers her face.
Blood drips from her mouth.
There’s blood on her hands.
Hers, not hers, she, not she.
Is not is.
Be not be.
One hand holds a knife,
the other clutches a severed penis.

Her mirrors reflect the cartoon chicken that adorns her black t-shirt.
Above this chicken,in groovy 70's writing,
it says, in yellow: "Funky Chicken"
[I]Diary,I don’t wanna go to school today,
the kids all call me Katie, Katie the fatty,stinky girl.[/I]

“No more” she says.
“Fuck you, fat cunt." booms the Funky Chicken
"You called me up from Hell with your incompetent fat girl Wicca magic
and accidentally trapped my demon essence in this
idiotic cartoon chicken.
Now do as I say, slave,
go and put that cock in your freezer."

Broken. Inverted. Perverted.
To the kitchen, kitchen, kitchen goes she.
She places the penis in her freezer, with the others.
Then drives the knife through her chest
Drops to the floor – Dead.

[I]Katie, Katie, the fatty,
stinky girlNobody loves her.
Not even her mum and dad.[/I]