I’ll turn into a god of pain and disease and build an altar to you from the bones of your murderer. Their suffering will be my first odes, and they will not end until I...

Times like this, I don’t wish for ignorance. I look around and I see the bloated ignorance of the lumpen proletariat: roly-poly, sausage-fingered, ginger-topped fathers of at least two illegitimate children trying to massage the...

I didn’t just feel it; I recorded each and every sensation. I can replicate each one. I will. I’ll play it back plus ten for the pastardthat caused my love to fall. And before they...