you see a tripwire, i see a means to an end.

it feels as if society is a dogearred copy of salinger from flipping its collective shit.

all the while i cut myself not to make the pain real but to make sure i am still capable of bleeding. that they did not swoop in and replace me with a sex doll. my rubber orifices will suffice. the transitive properties become hazy and the tantalizing smell of sex fills the air

nostrils flared, pinpoint pupils and narcissisticly nuanced. made for fun.

a roughed out fabrication of a prepubescent girl’s ideal man, complete with pink cadillac and make up kit

recommended for ages 27 and up. batteries not included, some assembly required, may be irrevocably broken

if affection occurs rinse eyes and mouth

vigorously. vaginal tingles expected encouraged and enforced

if symptoms last more than five hours call a priest.

she flew into a rage and brandished a knife but her intent was not clear

i stood watching my reflection watch me watching him in the blade

she whispered her love and it felt as if the blade came down twice.

panicking panicking pacing about

trying to figure out how many licks it takes to get to the center to get centered to be censored to be sensed to have sense

to track the scent

i hear the baying of hounds, he is searching for the one who broke his daughters heart.

it was never her heart i was after

i wanted her soul her flesh her mind her being to tangle together in a sweaty mess unsure where one ends and the other begins but the knowledge that it was going to get messy and sloppy and every ounce of pleasure was to be matched with pain

our safe word is more

all the while the world sits at the edge of armageddon and goddess sits ready for judgement.

and i want to ravage her as it burns

see, you see a tripwire and i see a means to an end

you see ruined sheets and i see a testimony to time well spent

she carries the blade in her chest when it isn’t poking out of mine our blood mingling and teasing spiralling out of control anxious and hellbent on mutual destruction

this is a love letter

an ode to hunger and avarice

a quick comment before i am disassembled and put into the dish washer for my post coital cleansing

the refractory rinse cycle in perpetual stop start sequence

this is a love letter to you

you