Friday, May 18, 2018

Crumbs

The carpet sits beneath me, a dirt painting on the ground
another pretty girl pants under your silhouette
you wanted a cracked water main, but I am a blood fountain
how do you discipline yourself?
my body, an afternoon performance

"I do love you, but I'm not in love with you."

Only some dirt gets to be mud - wouldn't it feel good to be stepped on?
When he is bored, all things become an entrance
I was a tender object living in a home you'll never invite me to
Turn screams into moans; call it healing

Looking up from a pair of thighs, I wake up like a lap dog
When I ask how he wants me, he does not answer
What a privilege to be bored rather than bound
See no victim, only pleasure seeker

Do not stop until you have frightened everyone
until you can hold a thorn without bleeding
until you hide panic into laughter
until this intersection of trauma and pleasure
means nothing to you

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