Schmerz & Ernst von Lob, Er Danke

Sewage pipe erect, the lap is sapping leakage tube. Excretes to the sewer; jaw septic.

Before his stomach is stitched together, his guts are by punched into him. Intestines slushing under his rubber skin. Intestines slushing out of the seams. All his limbs contort, but he doesn't know how to hurt.

All he knows is pleasure, lapped by the stitches lace together and overlapping threads' bulge.

The Plastic Boy sighs. He ruts, rubs holes into the silicone fettered at his thighs. His crotch's stitches knot. He begs for release; the Plastic Boy pleads

to grasp his insides; Tears mar silicone peel to pry what made him feel so nice.

He grabbed that beating lump of flesh, he wrest it from his chest. With amass writhing on the floor, probed, he holds himself just empty as he'd been before.

Caterpillars inching under the skin, wrinkling the surface they swell within. Flaking, moist with lotion and softened tissue bulge slicked. Carcass piling flattened, their delicacy licked.

Caterpillars itching under the skin, scratched and scraping, they flinch, stroked gently and pinched, pouting curds, clumping and twitching the nerves. They excite. They entice. Poked puffy, spiking their fuzzy bodies, splinters throbbing me, inflamation-giddy larvae. Pleasure babies, they're blushing! Flustered tissue offspring.

She's kicking the curb, has a mouthful. Girls are so difficult! Pockets stuffed with sour apple lollies. Oral fixation, she's suckling sweets. Hard candy baby, sore in her confectionery wrapper. Soft core oozing through the plasticized paper. Palliation piling in the trash bin, jammed with tacky napkins. Girls always carry that stickiness within.