Kafka the Crow and a Pink Pussy Hat

Pink pussy hats don’t purr they have no need to please you. Pussy exists for the sake of itself – and will attribute lack of success to the failure of a corpse to decay.

Kafka means crow, did you know? There was a dream she had, a place to go, the crow was enormous, named her Black Goliath. (Who bit back later, but a good point demands to be driven home).

She sharpened her needle on her dead man’s Katana while thinking about Habanero peppers combined with Guava. Hey there sweet-hot, you dress in a sauce with a well made broth and a base of marrow ever notice how sweet? That marrow be better than the meat.

Her mother got lamb chops, grill them for dinner. She’d suck out the marrow with vigor and joy. The other thought it was gross until she tasted it once, and then she too, became hooked:

Ah, dat sweet and nasty bone marrow junk.

Kafka means crow and she now dreams in polaroid Tattoo.

Full sleeve (for real!) before they were cool nail-bit Goth blood drops n’ so forth. Black Goliath biting her bones as the needle goes in and the ink stains the skin ah shit she hit it too hard – damn girl get me dat phone…

Yo, yo – need an ambulance in here, got bit by this bird, name’s Kafka you see he’s this Crow from Prague – where’s Prague you ask? Dude, I don’t fuckin know – somewhere in that Europe Commie block? Red bastards be born every day, aight?

And one orange bastard shits on our throne where his fat orange ass never belonged.

The needle slips and pierces her bone. The taste of sweet marrow reminds that there was once a home. Get your hands off her now, your eyes off her Wow or she will slice her arms and beat with fists before a slice to her face bleeds all over the place – you will eventually come to see:

Don’t want that attention or to lead a misdirection
Just wants a corner, much like that Jack told her such lies and still she bought them full retail every. single. damned. time.

She’s easy aight? But not like Granny’s butter. She don’t spread or take up much space despite projecting a far larger face – it’s an act a persona it’s nothing true to a soul – She made up a story to fool you all with only 1 year to plan but more than 50 long years to fall.

The laughs on YOU bugaboo, the needle pierces her skin and her vein collapses in oh yeah oh yeah how she bleeds from her eyes and now into her brain, and up in an airplane she got oxygen robbing Filgrastim throbbing “mild” aches and pains what crap the shit broke her into 42 halves.

And the judge is an ass.
And the father insane.
The mother disrupted
Don’t think that leaves a child corrupted? Let Kafka explain:

She listened to the pussy and when it purred these words, shocked her deeply as to what it was she heard:

“Full finger up you baby, all the way, no hesitation, no maybe. I did it. I did it. I don’t know why. I’m not even sorry, and I don’t know how to cry.”

It’s a strange compulsion and weirder confession to tell a traumatized child such a fucked up act what would you do shrug it off? Yeah, you would, and die in silence weak ass bitch. Not that child, no, she too damned wild fight back bite back but only herself though once in a corner with Jack she’s gone

How well fragility endures such dark time to also come to find the intimate heart the most private part was invaded before 3 months of age.

What would you say about that, eh eh? Raped by a finger longer fatter bigger than baby girl slash?

It don’t bounce back.

Oh! I got distracted – it happens now more with age. So Kafka the Crow got fat by the way, he turned into a drinker, lost all his fluff, got down on his luck, moved to Vegas…

Kafka the crow then killed a duck. Don’t know her name but Kafka, at that point out of its bird brain, didn’t give a single fuck. Roasted her in the radiation still lingering today in the Mojave where the fallout will stay, you didn’t know? Cuz no one did say, wasn’t worthy of news that day.

Ah fuck, who cares, we already Dead Walking there’s even a show – we’re famous now, but only on HBO. Pay to play, pay to pray, pay to live and pay to die, no Amen Sista gonna sprout wings and fly.

Kafka and she, will forever be, partying down in hell,
sucking marrow from the devil’s own claw with gumption and glee.