Skin Rack : A short burst of horror fiction

I sleep all night in my small bedroom.
It smells like the stale remnants of an unclean foreskin.
I don’t like people.
I hang their skins on a coat rack in the dank corner.
Their flaccid exteriors flop around in the shadow of my energy efficient sixty watt bulb.
I stare at them shimmering in the light.
Watching their lazy shells flow in the air arouses me.
It hardens me.
I want more skins … but my clothes rack is cheap and from stupid K-Mart and won’t hold any more weight.
I hate being poor.
It halts me needs.
It stops my desires.
I need to kill and destroy them.
FUCK BEING POOR!