Dirty Frank

Some see him as a scoundrel (mongrel, morsel of human flesh). He sees in mirrors reflections of wirra (sorrow), a boy who was left to kill himself. Time does not heal all wounds (when sound can travel listen), if it killed your soul (stole it if you want to own it). How do you bleed (while you plead), the heart was ripped to pieces (peace I hate the word), by the man you called your father.

The universe sent you what you need (feed off flesh), is that why some boys are abused to become men that scar (far the sound of healing). Some boys get locked inside a broken soul (what a foul story was told), frightened to talk, to breathe, to be in this life.

When blood drip out your broken face on white tiles between love and hate, do you really feel it?

Do you know you are there to see the red stain white (What is right?). Make a mess of it all (you are worth nothing), even your blood stains. Good for nothing Dirty Frank. Break him (he might never win), he was born to feel blood burn his eyes, lick it off his lips. This is how you are alive (they connive to hide the truth).

Slow (he will never grow), is the universe when you enter a knife through skin. The pleasure is timely, locked in the sense of strength (the length of power is not shown).
You can not be god and take what you think belongs to you.

This I swear Dirty Frank you have left your marks, dirty hand prints on dead bodies. Is that your sin, to try and feel free.
What was the initial deed of death? Was it your soul ripped from blood to stain white floors, while your father beats and rape your body.
Is the deed of death the knife that kills your victims?

Original artwork By Perry(published with permission)