Maybe if he cried, begged on his mother’s life, even just shut up. from Bella and Shirley by pd lyons


Pigs. Whores. Fucking pigs…

Maybe if he cried, begged on his mother’s life, even just shut up. But he stood there with his arms pinned behind him pants down around his ankles while the woman he had beaten; senseless on the floor and he called us pigs? Whores?


I pushed the knife up under the ribs like I was taught.

Some other half formed word of his contorted with a scream.

I was amazed how easily it wet in


I was amazed

How clear it all was

Notice so many small things

His teeth had color

His filthy khaki shirt stained in the shape of a flying bird

Thrashing hard against the ropes he brings me to. His contortions must have set him free.

But no.

Now, he whispers.

Now, he pleads.

Now, he prays –

to me.


But its Shirley I hear yelling – Pick it up! You missed. You fucking missed!

Then seriously quiet she says, -Do what I taught you. Remember.

And I did – Observe, Relax, Act.


So I pick up the knife

Observe every inch of him

Wet brown eyes

Buckling hairless knees

Shriveled genitals


This time,  slowly steadily with the knife search

Until a soft pop inside

A dwindling ah from his never to be heard again mouth

The last heat from his breath against my face

and then

the smell


pdlyonsphoto 2016

pdlyonsphoto 2016

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