literary food for thought.
Self Mutilation
(ah bet thar iz an app for that!)
within unlit partial "FAKE abattoir"
   sans wardrobe alcove
   where dust bunnies didst allures
completing a simple task among
   my never ending (Matthew's) list
   of domestic chores

this undertaking engaged
   thankfully while completely clothed,
   and scrounging on all fours
nonchalantly picking up scattered detritus
   including food crumbs

   potential critters hors d'oeuvres
the spouse (ideally seated
   on this same swivel chair
   dashing off these lines

   linkedin with this Macbook Pro) -
   housing at least four scores
of word documents, she espied
   the cheeky opportunity
   that triggered many wars

within arms length the taut outline
   of me 'lil derriere - re: rear end
temporarily dormant versus
   when flatulence roars -

   posterior flank hie
   could not de fend
she playfully poked her finger
   that didst dis send
   within close vicinity of sphincter,
   where ****** turgid business height tend

(most likely this husband not alone
   getting ***** twerked) inn me own coal
less cents great movements got made
   jabbing ma *******

   while i happened
   to be "blindly" groping
   upon darkly cutout cubby hole
i.e. without wearing bifocals/ spectacles -

   envision a human mole
thus amply qualified her role
to be literal and figurative
   pain in the *** vole,

where much to my horror a flash
of red hot poker blind
   momentary rage, did lash
out at me, when aye espied

   a kitchen knife and acted rash
(how cutlery got in closet floor
   a minor mystery
   and potential topic de jure

   for another poem)
   to brandish sharp edge
   around abdominal area
grabbed handle with left hand,
   thence commenced to slash

rhythmically thwacking
   wrist of right hand
then quickly dropped sharp implement
(as like a man momentarily possessed)
   before rendering permanent harm
   with a river of blood to wash.

we cast down
silence has ****** me
in these ashes
we
breathe
ashes from
these
lips
?













...
..
.

I will lay my hands on you as you have laid yours on me
I will bury my fingers deep into your flesh and pick apart your bones
I will come into your house, your home
And pelt you with stones
I will make you bleed
The desire to harm you
To see your face contort in pain
Isn’t a common thing for me
How does it feel?