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[00:-3.00]The Love and Terror Cult - Subject B

Sludge foams from his face
As chewed nails drag above skin
He has no hairs left on his tail
He's rose above them
Graze past plastic walls
He drags her
Feet behind her
From that resting place
To scrape grease off kitchen counters
There's bugs just beneath
The layers she's built on her skin
They chew through the bone
She shows off but no one's looking
His hair slicked back
His perfect glance
He planned for it to appear
By chance
He tries so hard to not try so hard