Rustic Immaturity

April 9, 2012
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Bite marks line their arms,
contradicting their innocent silver eyes.
Dirty tan feet file up the staircases.
They tiptoe down the halls,
careful not to let their rage show.
Jamming a fingernail into
a locked door;
the first one approaches.
She licks her lips with concentration,

Cackles waft up the elevator shaft;
the performance was over.
The real humans,
in expensive regal gowns and rented tuxedos.

Not the forged personalities and bodies that the
disturbed demons recruiting food
and faking being a human.

Another one of the artificial humans
forces open the door, already unlocked,
rushing to hide themselves from
the rare,
yet normal
elevator people.
The girls flitter inside the closet,
and silently shut the door.

Nobody will know.
Except the silent man tied to the ceiling.





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