There is a long tail of madness
that echoes from this wreckage. Molotov is making cocktails,
as Kalashnikov assaults us
at forty-two plus five.

Triptamine takes the backseat,
and your carpet bombs
lay me to waste,
******.

We had such a luminous trial
survived our sentence, self-imposed
on cluttered hearts.

We could have had everything...

But you started listening to other voices
The ones outside our heads,
fused at the soft-spots.
The ones that sang sweet ******,
the ones we left our suicide
to please

and those murmuring homicides
murdered what we were,
scalped our skulls apart,
and you let them.

I have been bleeding to death
from the top of my brain
ever since.

I am grocery bags,
carried through your rain,
now split at their soggy bottoms
spilling what you filled me with
(fresh produce, water, sustenance)
all over the ground
like rotten, polluted, abandoned
trash.

The concourse lays out between you and I,
allow this reprimand,
accept this brokerage
in escrow.

Weep the clouds
out of those spinning absences you left,
broken, open, empty,
and full of terror.

you will *** for Me, until you cannot speak
and for that,
you will call Me, "Daddy."

you will mold to My desire, which is only to better you
and for that,
you will call Me, "Sir."

you will bend to Me, but I won't break you
and for that,
you will call Me, "Master."

I was sailing back to you,
I would have sailed all the way across those
vicious seas, through the rocks,
on your breeze.

I would have caught your tailwind,
and sailed, like Magellan, around the globe,
but you were turning the Earth against me.

I would have sailed back to you,
tattered sheets on splintered masts,
makeshift oars to guide me, broken.

I would have sailed back to you,
to your harbor, crumbling,
and helped repair it, fixed.

I would have sailed back to you,
but
your tailwind became a headwind,
you burned my sails,
shattered my masts,
stole away my oars, and
destroyed your harbor.

And now I float,
desperate
starving
thirsting...

But I am now finding,
in the absence of your blinding star light,
that there are other harbors
that could save me from
the storm that you've become.

You've got a little secret, don't you?

The women envious of that ***,
jealous of those eyes,
hating your hips and *******,

the men hungry for that ***,
hypnotized by those eyes,
mouths watering for those hips and *******,

but they know that
you are a good girl
you don't do those terrible things they think
you are innocent, pure, locked up
tight.

But you've got a ***** little secret, don't you?

You walk around with
your skin burning for a touch
your mouth begging for a ****
your ******* longing to be pinched and pulled
your *** eager for a *******
your throat hoping to be choked
**** cheeks burning for a beating
and a warm little wet spot on your *******
all day long.

You've got a secret,
a ***** little secret,
don't you?