Tuesday, July 8, 2008

If you put it in slow will it hurt?

she packs her little black bag
and comes over with a half pack of cigarettes and
full of regret
she doesn't smoke but they
remind her of him and the safety
waiting and
waiting around for her back
and it's all the reason why
she's here

catch me
I'm falling

it doesn't matter now
but maybe she'd get used to this
thing with me already
and it'd somehow be worth the lies
and dirty
she feels
having to lay
by my side

the kind of grime and hollowness she tells me, that doesn't wash off
even after a scalding hot rape-shower.

maybe she just needed more convincing
that i am everything
she never wanted
that she couldn't believe I breathed the same air
and lived under the same skies
as everyone else
because I was like
no one else
far worse
i was the same as everyone

and here I go even
before i get home to her.
I go home to her. the other one, she lives in the apartments less than a mile away from my house.
and I go there and she touches what she touched
we have sex
I don't let myself come if that's any consolation
I save it
for when I get home

I put it in her
with a shame full kind of violence
like i can somehow force my
dick and soul
into her all at
i know it wont keep her mine
but it keeps her
mine now

less than an hour from being
inside of someone else
I push myself off of her
I do it just like that
shoving at her sweaty skin , leaving her breathing hard. used. and she doesn't see it but I wink at the ceiling as if it's my pal.
as if I won something, like showing off to the heavens.

see,you haven't hurt me. You can't hurt me.

I am wrong of course. I'm wrong about everything.
you wouldn't know it
but I am in love with her
and I hate myself for it.

art by: MISS VAN


Mir said...

You seem to punish her just as much as you punish yourself. That's a frightening kind of love.

Or maybe she just gets in the way.

It's easy to hate yourself, but you don't feel guilt for taking it out on the woman you love?

Anonymous said...

my chair is wet. what's new, yanno? i see you got some nice ink. and you're maturing into a great writer. i love the torture of monogamy and isolation and danger. i always will. probably why i always liked you. we're like people who cannot be named or really touched. i wonder why that is... i wonder if, like me, you were once hurt so deep, you never opened the wound up enough again to really feel much beyond lukewarm...? i have a show in houston at the end of the year. i've been making art. [paperballet.com] yeah. chair's wet, body's throbbing... and i miss reading you.