Thursday, September 24, 2009
how to serve man.
that's not a hand. ii's a claw. and this is not a song. it's an exorcism of numbness. we are not in my bedroom anymore. it's a prison camp that i've been stuck in. this isn't skin. it's a scramble suit with a thousand me's rotating. that's not your mouth, its a boredom generator powered by irritation. we aren't a couple. we're isolationists who tried to use the buddy system. and that wasn't sex. It was a competition for power that I'm clearly winning.
this ain't a break up. i like to think of it as a stay of execution.
you're not a woman. you're a piranha with cutlery for dentured up smile. and i'm not a man. i'm an incomplete punchline to a joke i don't understand.
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2 comments:
What ch'all got against feelings? I love feelings. I love the feel of crushed velvet, I love the feeling of suede against my skin, I love the feel of leather up on my feet, and most of all I love the feel of my man's hand up in mine, sksst!
that's not your diary, it's a cookbook and i'm your favorite chapter when you're bored....
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