A Small Collection of Creepy Shit -- Jenna

these are a few shit things i've written. too lazy to write something new. sleeeeeeepy.

Porcelain Doll

You were so pretty when you sat on your knees, Jonny.

God. The way every inch of you purred (just for me, Jon. Just for me). But, my favorite part was... how you fucking took it. You'd been the business for awhile now. (I could tell; you knew how to get a tip, baby. You had that textbook memorized.) But yet... after coming to you so much... after fucking you so slow and hard... you were still intact. Still clean and sweet (and tight. Can't forget tight). Still the angel of 54th street.

I knew things had to end, though. Things were rough out there, right? You'd been through a lot...? I didn't know-- I don't know. But I did know that you wouldn't be my diamond forever. The streets were going to get you at some point. When you weren't wary when you sucked! sucked! sucked! at me... when you didn't squeeze the sheets when I slammed into you.

So, I gave you an extra ten. I stared at you and sat quietly between the sticky sheets with you. If you weren't for rent (a lie) I would have kissed your bow of a mouth.

You were so young, Jonny.
Was I a father to you? Reliable? Always there? You would smile at me and say the same thing as always. "Next time next week?" but... that smile. It kept me coming to you, Jonny. It was so innocent. You were so innocent.

The final night, though? I could tell you didn't want me to come back. The Life was finally making its mark, wasn't it? I smiled at you. "Yep. See you then."

I didn't want the angel of 54th to disappear. In my mind... Jonny, in my mind you would always be innocent. The morning sun was not going to ruin that for me. I refused to see your filthy body or your black eye.

You were my porcelain doll.


Pedo thing

She sat on the swing.
Her thin, youthful legs glided over the air, invisible lips kissing her calves. Her finger squeezed the plastic covered chains like paper clips.
Children. They should never be so lovely, yet, to Principal McCarty, they always were. His lunchbox sat untouched on his desk, his eyes watching the children run across the gated courtyard. He was the monster Mommy told you about-- touched himself to girls with pink ribbons.
He was that monster and his victims were his students.


$EX
Let your lips wrap around dollar bills.
Now lick. Kiss George Washington.

A sigh. Smooth as silk. He moans a name slowly and his hips hiccup closer to you. Keep on. Hold your breath. Let him explode in a downpour of liquid pennies right onto your tongue.

You are a bank.



people were forgetting about me so i had to shovel some shit to get some attention. sorry for the massive post, kirsty, ily.