Black Widow 2.0

She is not your average dawn patrol afternoon throwaway transparent apparition walking the streets of Karen Avenue with nothing more left in a overly desentized lobotomized brain than on how to score enough money for drugs, rusted metal bedsprings, and some new clothes while furthering her delusional nightmare of fantasy game show reality television success. Nothing gross, obvious, or involving low grade STD transmissions who clings to a searing perverse nature that would induce any upper class Roman turn in sheer terror from the master class levels of obscene behavior exuding from her acidic toxic skin; it is difficult to tell whether the actions are for effect or obsessionally genuine. The night stalker walks down the back alleys at night with a body which make most sexually deviant middle age men contemplate thoughts of Ted Bundy like murders, Silence of the Lambs come to mind, an all out assualt on everything socially relevant with scapels, acetelyene torches, and an ameoba like gelatinous filled fluid sac where the mind has completely dissolve into something more telepathic, like a radio station for mass sacrifice where nothing but the hits of such predators throughout history all talk in a hyper frenzy paranoid state, a stadium of sadists cheering these men on to become the next media headline forever branding their particular or peculiar sense of of female worship on the hearts and minds of the human race.

The Black Widow walks like a lion closing in on a kill, totally emotionless, seeking to only spread fatal sexual diseases amongst the fringe cases of society, her time on this planet is running out like the sand in an hourglass, definitive, permanent, and absolute, a vindictive suicide mission to infect as many of the enemy of possible, jacked up on high speed trailer park crank her heels leave indentions in the sidewalk, a heavy footed nature that shakes the entire block with every step; those around the neighborhood know exactly who she is once those earthquake like vibrations start, spinning, picking up momentum to a terminal velocity on par with sub-atomic particals, near light speed, this woman becomes almost an illusion, barely visible to the human eye that is why none of the authorities can catch her for she does not really exist, nothing more than a lingering trail of red tailights passing through a congregation of acid munching bystanders, caught up in the spectacle of witnessing the presence of the Black Widow as if a comet in the night sky had passed, such a short window of visibility before the object vectors off pass our small window in the universe.

Shoot to kill, aim to thrill, by the short track to the death ride, her sermon, her victim, an eruption when the clothes come off to anyone to naive, ignorant, or schizophernic to cross paths with her, no wisdom, mercy, or escape, once in the web, turning to stone would be an easy way out, but not with this woman, she will spread her infection laced with the dreams that disturb her every living breath, kill, kill, kill, is her motto, every night, when the sun sets, with shark like persistence she feasts, no choice, keep moving, keep deavouring, keep converting innocents into zombies without morals, goals, and a dedication to uphold the invisible pillars of decency that keep this fragile nation in tact. All those ideals are out the window when the clock whispers into your ear that time is an invention and that your time is being revoked for lack of proper usage. The assassin closes in under seina street lamps, tempting would be dominators in for the surprise of their life, paralysis, soul eating viruses, and passage to the fast lane of misery, take a seat, find her true nature where curiousity does not only kill the cat but murder an entire generation of misguided subverts only looking to escape the pain of everyday existence.