(I must confess); that
every intimate moment
we shared-
each passionate
(each one,
more sadistic,
than the last).
precious air, as if
withholding rubber
chew toys,
from a pup. (who prefers
to chew on the sofa arm,
I gasped.
He stopped, as if in triumph-
Had I given it all up? (admitting
urban greenery); meant
meant death just like
conformity. But in
a mere moment (yet,
a lifetime,
in the wrong place),
stopped me, revved up-
Sensibility, (would not
evade me further). Reckless
acts, my motivation; raw
emotion; a spontaneous chase
for passion.
I fell back as if there were
a caring pair of arms; a
mattress. Anything but
blackness-shattered glass beneath me,
ruins and remnants,
had severed much,
from me-“what was his goddamned name?”
My good intentions, here,
are just as fallible,
as human as-(now I am)
staggering, boarishly-
feeling his presence
(looming) all around
me, makes me stutter, stammer,
(feel that)
DISABILITY-not knowing
where it came from;
verdant urbanity, and reckless,
verging psychopathic, vanity…
Always (almost), just a hair
from tragedy, I made so many
rural, sweet
and unassuming,
before. And then I paid for them
in something….irreplaceable.
I paid in flesh.
I paid in blood.
I always paid in full, then
promptly, I
convinced myself “I’d
never err like that again”. But
sadly, here I am,
again. (This lesson
must be learned),
I think he’s lied to me,
again. But baby,
I don’t care.
So, when he asks me (at my
weakest second), I
justify-to my
self in decline. I agree
to death,
(for abruptness in
bliss), before
violent defile. . .
Slow and indifferent;
his fist is apathy-
serving me,
to eternity in Hell. I don’t bother
to close my eyes to imagine the
dogged tears,
flesh rending
soiling, (unyielding): my
dismembering, will supersede
His pace, this place
is His, this town,
this filthy (infested),
restaraunt, the show (although)
delusional; is
gripping (but still belonging),
to Him.
Impatient now, I’m still
hoping, tolerating-(this)
makes me his trick-
a john, his bitch-at-beckon-call.
And, as I stand to leave I make a
mental note that I’m not even sure
why I’m here, anymore.
But, before I take a step,
I feel the hand on my shoulder,
displaying his strength,
compassionately, and I feel his
shameful inadequacy. The act-
It’s so fucking petty, yet claws
recall like a video feed,
right in front of me-Individual,
really quite personal, demonstrations:
my Dystopia.
I succumb to his sexualities, and
at once I’m inhaling him,
appeasing him,
wanting him, ——-
When, I realize my cryptic
mistake. I’ve been
here before, I remember this.
(The times, places,
the recovery-the
nearly-lost-my-worthless-life, while
he stood there, just
watching me.)
He shoves his
tongue, down my
throat; so hard,
I taste blood.
(Like the last time). . .a riot of idiocy,
a stream of license plates,
scrolling down,
committed to memory. A long list
of guys who live to distribute
their hate; their names,
(yeah, their license
plates). I’m such a
stupid girl, dumb girl-(This one’s
the reaper, girl). Grim,
stinking of evil, cocksure;
he didn’t even lie about
his name. (Uncommon, enough,
a name a sane girl wouldn’t forget).

It’s black,

‘The Kiss’ by
Gustav Klimt