Giant pearls of bleeding antagonism swirled like a candy-coated menace outside on the terrace, knocking on the window, begging for attention. Inside, my carefully crafted house of cards was started to crumble from the bottom up, cosmic vibrations seeping through my coffee table of luv, and I could tell the black tie portion of the evening was over. I stood up, calmly, resolutely, as the man on the TV announced the end of the world. I stared for a moment at the horrifying wretches gasping and clawing outside the terrace doors, their sickly leers and growling throats pressed hard against the glass. I allowed myself a simple, final smile in their direction, a token to the old days, before throwing open the doors; and in those next blessed moments, I felt claws and teeth and eyes and purple rip me chew me tear me explode me, I saw an edifying river of bilious black bile spill forth, corrupted youth and pornographic life force, the that which once was me congealed like tar and hate and power, the glue which held my face in place my mind inside, my heart came last, a pulpy mess of screaming flesh which cried and wailed and fought for naught; meanwhile the shell which once was animate and called itself by name stood frozen like a pillar of salt, or cocaine, or fairy dust; and as my demon friends, my friends the demons, my friends are demons, consumed my poisoned innards,
there was only the sound of simpering and sucking, and smacking of lips.