Clouds of lust
blind voices
dumb eyes lip-sync
nightmares of sweat and blood stains
on the white sheet.
Stick legs, stick arms,
flat, some things
round, someone,
Steel nails, sharp teeth and the organ
plays his song
So he beats and pleads,
not had enough already?
Whispered cackles drift,
my spine stays frozen;
more join,
blame.
It's never them,
'Not me'
'She!'
Killed.
I'll take a deep breath.
ReplyDeleteJust one should do it. Only an animal would need more than one.
But then again, I can afford but one.For I might break into a chilling fit, slip through my robes to the floor, panting as he breathes through my pores. The animal. The parasite. He'll live within and die with me, chained, branded, muzzled. I'll press my palms to his fluttering ears, wipe the scum off his drooling cavities, scrape the earth off his bleeding claws. He doesn't know he was supposed to have eyes; all I can see is a single blob of dried blood too far away from his nose. Maybe he would have known then. I'll stroke his navel; maybe between the fuming eruptions, he will feel it, and recognize it: his formless fluidity coagulating into a disgusting rupture anointed by her blood. Or his toothless grasp to life, her sacrifice gone wrong, for blindness began from there, his curse. My curse.
I'll take one deep futile breath. For somewhere, another from the herd has broken his leash. There. Another. There. Another. There! Another!
I'll slip through my robes to the floor, panting as he breathes through my pores.I have to grope through the darkness, then, searching for my scattered loins before he wakes up again. I'll caress him while I curse myself.