The Death of Envy

When I spoke enviously of Josephine’s long lashes, rosy cheeks and soft curves, the corners of my Samael’s lips lifted, and he let out a low, menacing laugh that sent an erotic chill down my spine. He withdrew his blade and spoke in a hauntingly satisfied murmur to its blood-stained tip: “My love, all skeletons look the same.”

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Locked

I keep two birds locked in a golden cage, atop the kitchen counter in a dusty, musty house. The paint is peeling, the floorboards are gone, blood streaks the walls, and the two birds stare at me from the confines of their golden cage.

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Never Shave Again

He’d finally had enough of shaving and he was convinced if he got a close enough shave he wouldn’t have to worry about it for a whole week. Over and over again the five bladed razor scraped along his skin; the deranged man never noticed he had reached bone as his whole torso was covered in blood and shredded pieces of his face.

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