He can see the stars in my eyes
When I look up at him with a sore jaw.
I am his sweet supple bruised eye baby.
I am nothing
But a beat up book
Rarely pulled from the shelf
Above where his mama hid the liquor.
I am a no good sick *****
That he needs to go down.
I am nothing
But his only girl
When he’s still thirsty after a swim
Getting what a silk shirt short skirt ***** should.
I am his naughty flirty ***** closet *****
But I’m such a good girl.
I am nothing
But his baby
Mama, said it is my body, my choice
But there is no choice
As my body is his temple,
The holiest of holes of his hoes.
I am nothing
But the warm waters weaving
Down his supple, swollen, stillborn stomach
Creating puddles of passion on stained reflections
Shimmering sights of his self-slain **** staring from the tile floor
I am nothing.