Write

The Factory

Poem by Hannah Dezen - hdezen711@gmail.com Photos by Muge Karamanci
Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Holy shit. Kurt Cobain is staring at me, surprised, sucking on a pacifier while these two chicks are going at it. Like really going at it. They’re both getting fucked hard. From behind too. Both pale, with creamy white skin. Innocent. Their tongues caress each other’s and they occasionally glance over at me. They know I like it.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

I’m looking at this dude’s face. His skin is melting off. The sinewy red muscles are moving. He’s writhing. We lock eyes for one painful split-second, before all membrane is gone. His eyes bulge, but not outward. They’re bulging into his head, being pulled through sockets, and up through his skull. His brain is already gone; he’s just a skeleton with eyes. His retinal cords are like a rubber band that just keeps stretching. They just keep stretching backwards—They pull. And pull. And pull. And pull. And pull. And pull. And pull.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

His blobbed out eyes are stretched down past his pelvic bone. And then, SNAP! Something gives. His neck shoots forward. Bones rattle. He’s shocked. It’s one horrific moment of seeing. He’s gone.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

I’m in a factory. More meat. These guys are laughing while they work. Snickering. They’re crude and blue collar with thick, layered buzzed heads. You remember those play-doh toys from when you were little? Like you’d stick a blob in and watch it squeeze out in crazy shapes? It’s like that, only in reverse. I’m watching faces go in, and come out in long, thin strands. Shit. They’re grinding up people for meat.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Comments are closed.