Sunday, July 2, 2017

fetish: a duet.

i fuck you. ain't no shame.
shame is the one thing i was raised without
a sense of.

you know who you are. no need to name names.

you askin' me how i sleep at night. well....it's the high of
being on a platform like the one i got. it's like...like, the lividest, hottest

sex, the kind you continue thinking of even when
your wife and kids are around...like, it doesn't even matter to me
that i'm "ugly" or whatever.

"tell me i'm nice," is what i pull you in to say, going for

a hook so that you listen to me. instead, i freeze, not because

i'm a cold fish, but because my mind
is escaping the moment, as you

rape me, your dick feeling like
loose shit contained by the thin skin of sausage,

webcams everywhere, daddy.

destruction must have a  rite of passage we're
presented in our formative years
and
this must be it, like that dream i had when

osama bin laden captured me and other kids. favoring me,
he spared me from his murdering me

and granted me paradise, his
child in me.

"this birth is not my light," i said. "i must
find a way to be okay

with murdering my own child."

which didn't happen.

a pet
births herself from my chest, of all places. my heart probably
turning into something new.

i lift my
shirt. pet stacey comes out,

the girl that's always gonna be shy. she
admits she wants to learn how to suckle

like how my brothers did when
their lives weren't spared. slut.
her real name is iraq

learning it wants to fit in
mostly because
it's not allowed.