"If it grew anything, the cheerleaders would stab it
with their pitchforks, in the middle of another ritualistic
hip stomp. Rah rah rah cyst bubbling and popping out
red-eyed rats. Cheerleaders. Couldn’t escape ‘em in breathing-life,
can’t escape ‘em now. That’s how Hell works.
What ate you up up there, really eats you up down here.
I look up and this guy is talking butterflies.
“They’re actually cold-blooded, bet you didn’t know that?
And they taste with receptors on their feet instead
of tongues like we do.”
Just as I was opening my mouth to respond, they came.
Bright, gigantic butterflies the size of minivans
sprouted up from the bubbling gravy.
“I’ve been terrified of them since I was a kid,” he said,
bucking up from the table as more butterflies burst into existence.
That’s another thing about Hell
you don’t hear about before you get here:
you really have to choose your compatriots wisely,
because the punishments of those around you
can easily inflict themselves onto you."A few lines from "Satan's Gravy", a hideous collaboration by A.S. Coomer and Juliet Cook, appearing within FLAPPERHOUSE
partake of more HERE - https://flapperhouse.com/2016/08/31/satans-gravy-poetry-by-a-s-coomer-juliet-cook/