Just take it. Take the shivering flesh, the empty veins that once kept blood. I don’t want all this excess to be apart of me. I don’t want the constant flashing memories to be the living, breathing montage of my life. I should of kept what was close farther from you. Your absorbent aura only presents itself as a puffy sponge. Filled to the brim of beauty, ugly, tremendous. Unproductive, leaking out all the juices that use to flow through me. I want to be on top. Slice up the trembling from your bottom lip, let it’s liquids turn green from so much infection, so much touch. You’re nothing. I take whatever I said previously to the nearest bathtub to drown. I’m no longer your fucking marionette, your glassy, red lipped, clown. You are mine for the taking. But I don’t want you. What distress and intentions reversely brought me back to this temporary suspension from all I loved. Now I’m back, unknotting this pathetic home grown mask that’s consumed all that was pretty and free about me. My legacy? You think you ruined it? Don’t be so brash. You think you scratched it up real good, don’t you? I’ve dealt with whores. I’ve dealt with mediocre, self absorbed, pricks like you. Though, I hope I find the perfect one. So callous and cold, but when he’s exposed to my precise world, he’ll only warm up for me. Leaving time and past behind. Just the idea of my hair and eyes will make him automatically kind. I want to be the key, not some emptiness inside a dark hole. You aren’t what shall make me turn only gap and become open and hollow. For you. Defend your precious ego, and forget the thought of anything resembling me and your libido.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
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