I want to get violent. I want to break things and burn them from the sinside and sin and fuck and live. What I want is to be a fucking cliché of everything that punk rock stands for. These kids get hard on’s for clichés. They want to destroy things, but burning furniture isn’t destroying anything. Fire looks like life to me, bright and red and bold, it’s everything I’m not.
Wanting to destroy shit is what got me into this trouble in the first place. That’s how I ended up sitting here, kicking my fucking heels against this goddamn concrete wall I’ve called home for the past two hours. There’s no way I can go backwards in this situation, but I cant bring myself to go forwards either. I should’ve left her on the street, ignored that light bulb switch in my head that tells me to ‘go!’ But I’ve done it now and I’ve slowly realised that maybe leaving her tied up in the trunk of my car like this is not a permanent solution.
It was the way she looked at me. She gave me a look that made me want to cut her legs off so that she could never leave me. One of those perfect little princess girls that is completely untouchable and plastic. I wanted her, I wanted to ruin her, to put it bluntly. I don’t know how she ended up on that street corner, but daddy must not have hugged her enough, or maybe maybe he just hugged her a little too much. These girls always have daddy issues these fucking princesses. Nothing so pure can stay untainted, they’re so perfect because on the inside they’re ruined. But I’m getting off topic. She slid into my car, and thanked me for the ride, like I wasn’t just some fucking stranger who’d picked her up on a street corner so that we could fake love for an hour or so.
I saw her every night for a week, even though I couldn’t afford it, but she was a necessity, my china doll girl. How she got into the boot of my car is another story, which I cant think about right now so I wont. It’s always been easy for me to push things into the back of my mind, hide problems and push them down into the ground so that I don’t have to look at them anymore. And then when the time is right I can pull them out and examine them from a distance.
My cigarette’s almost run out and I cant put this off forever, I know that. I finger my shiny new toy, the one I picked up no questions asked from a guy who knows someone who knows someone, and then with a sigh I push myself to the feet. Poor girl. If I’d bought a thirty pack she’d have ten cigarettes left until we came to the conclusion of our little date. But she isn’t so lucky, and if she wanted me to be kind to her she should’ve fucking kept her pussy in her pants. Whores are all the same, they’re all looking for someone to shatter them. So I’m going to shatter her.
I pull the boot open and smile down at my tattered little angel. Even covered in sweat, blood and come she still smiles up at me; through the gag it looks more like a grimace but I know better. I rub my finger along the length of the bullet, suddenly eager to put things into action. A small part of my mind is wondering if I should fuck her again now or if it’d be better to wait until I’ve shut her up. You could fuck the hole, a little voice in my mind whispered, but that was too vulgar even for me. I want to destroy things, but not to that extent. It’s important to have limits in life.
When it happens it’s not a bang or a shot ringing out, but a strangely satisfying pop and she flops like a little rag doll. I should drag her out, but I just stare down at her for a second. Soon she’ll join the others, but I have to stare at her for another few minutes. She looks like an angel again, a sweet little weeping angel, bloody tears tracking down her body and pooling in my trunk.
It feels good for now, like a sweet fucking bliss that washes through my entire body. It's a delicious release but I know it’ll build again. And then we’ll start this fucking charade over again, and I’ll find a girl. Because I want to destroy shit, and that never goes away.