There’s a scent of trouble in the night air
Here in this blue-black pitched alley
Where she leads with a hypnotic sway
Hips moving like a pendulum
And I’m her fool wanting to get my hands on
Leather-clad round peach-like curvatures.

She stops me with a fingertip
Pressed upon my silky lips,
Hints of honey, lavender, and vanilla wafting
Intoxicated I drunkenly stumble on my feet
As she grins, careful not to show those pearly white teeth.

She tells me to stand still
Moving like a siren in open water,
Circling, and kissing parts of my neck never touched
Electrical pulses fire sending shivers,
Cool hands fondling over marbled muscle
I’m feeling flushed and dizzied.

She feels the rush of red,
Flow through my rivers,
And filling her prize,
Fabric straining,
Painstaking,
I bite my knuckle,
Must regain composure,
Must regain…

I hear the belt unbuckle
I feel the tug of hands by my waistband
Her eyes light with awe,
As my fleshly serpent bounced and swayed
Free from it’s cotton laced cave,
I try to say something…
Going too fast perhaps,
Barely know her,
Not even her name.

But thoughts go blank
As her wet-tongued ballets
Twisting like licking a vanilla cone,
Until the warmth of her maw
Became a second home.

Lost in the ecstasy
My hands gripping her jet-black hair
Pulling while moving hips to dance with her skillful dancer,
Until the pain comes.

Clutched tight by the upper limbs of this spider,
She enticed me with silky romantic gestures,
****** pleasure,
But as the bite enters my swollen member
I feel faint, my heart slowing, wishing to surrender
As the world spins, asunder
Weaker, feeling each pint dither
As the last drops travel lonesome
Through a cave of dried and wilting river beds

I only wanted a chance encounter
She only wanted to be fed.

they said the clown was sorrow-shaped.
so I looped up in greasepaint—
swallowed a sunbeam,
coughed out a smirk,
and called the ache comedy.

somebody whispered
i fear the bruise.
nah,
i catalogue it.
line breaks for scars,
syntax for shame,
run the hurt through a voice modulator
’til even god can’t tell if i’m praying or riffing.

i’m not dodging the wreckage.
i just built a couch in it.
named the crater: “home?”
drank laughter from a cracked thermos
and kept warm in the glow of a rerun i never starred in.

i’ll play the ghost
if the script pays in quiet.
but don’t staple my name to your healing
and call it holy.

the truth?
clowns rot too.

some nights
i wanna peel off the latex,
lose the joke,
shave the wig,
and just exist—
not perform pain
in a dialect
you can quote later.

Imagine the infinite loneliness
Creeping through the veins like polluted streams
Toxic waste pumping at the heart
A factory of misery sending spore plumes in the air
That is the kind of vile vermin preys on children.

The kind of people who
Can’t prescribe to society,
Finds clarity only in disparity
Desperately needing that attention,
Hopeless in the attempts to feel anything but indifference.

Addled by addictions
Blaming them for maledictions
Tormenting with words and eyes forever on the prey
Pulse of their finger tips bleeding in anticipation
Dreaming of ways to act like a year long krampus
To any child who speaks up against the abuse

Sick loners,
Even the roaches scatter and leave
A company of one,
Seething breaths heavy heaved
Derelict hygiene, paralytic intelligence
Caught in a scheme to ruin innocent things
Because do unto others that has been done unto  them is the motto.

Hurting others won’t heal
Finding no answers at the bottom of the bottle.
Maybe in the interim,
Bite into reality, now swallow.