salival

- the razor -

This poem is about self victimization. actually, really it's just a lamebrained attempt to get in the knickers of hot feminist chicks. honestly! enjoy!

(subtitle)The Tireless Victim (Medusa con Cancer)
you never gave it a chance
you could never relax
you supposed it was never meant to be more than just
you on your back
with my head in your lap
and your wrists in my hair
and the fingernails snare
and there's the sound in the air
of the clickety clack
of your heels on my back
and the bedsprings broke
the air mattress collapsed
the futon unfolded
the couches all cracked
ghosts rising out of the fabric and sheets
and the chemicals mingle the frame was complete
holding your
broken
hymen
under my tongue
to taste your sold sex like a loaded

halo that turns tricks
to the soulless with big dicks
so the wholeness that won't stick
doesn't hurt as much as that prick

and
you can't deny you let it get a little sicker
when you've smoked too many cigarettes, consumed too much liquor

you let them fuck you until you fall asleep or you cry
or that time you got drugged and

they didn't stop


until it got dry
they didn't stop
not even at all
until you got numb and
until it got raw

and you were too drunk and so you couldn't try

but you still couldn't look me straight in the eye
the next morning when you called i washed the blood from your thighs
and sarcastically said
"i guess this time i should be glad you didn't die"

you said you wished you had, and lied

in a half empty bathtub
the color of
blood
that had dried
and
scarlett hair dye
mascara shine
and a blue black stye

reflections in the pool that is no longer clear

medusa
you torture yourself by what you put inside
the depths and absesses between your thighs
you depend on a dick to make you feel alive
write fiction about how you felt so surprised
when your torso the doctors and surgeons incised
and the spiders crawled out of from the flaymarks alive
and you act like the victim because you survive
every morning
different bruising
different bedsheets
different lives
and they slip you the lies like the blade of a knife
to the places you should hold with utmost of pride
drunk fallic work to a drunk mindless hide

when you finally listen to the little girl inside

girl your womb is still sacred

when you blind yourself with bedroom eyes.
woman your womb is still sacred.
~
does anyone really read these? cheers.