Lletres: The Acacia Strain. See You Next Tuesday.

I said run.
And you won't be able to see me because you'll be bleeding from the eyes.
The thought of your genitals makes me sick and I bet you could fit five cocks up that ass.
Why don't you just strap a mattress to your back?
These are the last days of the rest of your life.
Next time I want a better excuse - dropped like a bad habit.
I wash my hands of you all.
My slate is clean.

And I'll be smiling all the way to the bank.
Face down, ass up; I want to destroy something beautiful.
By the end I want everyone dead.
By the end I'm going to be the only one standing.
Not even your children are safe.