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Fondling the Secret Parts Of Your Body
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I can't stop believing in the flip-flop
digressions of your lies. They wrap me
in hot and cold emotions. I like the
distance I feel from you. It caresses me
like a warm blanket used to cover
the cold of winter snows.
"You disgust me" you moan as I
fondle the secret parts of your body.
"Not as much as I disgust myself" I reply
as I push my assertiveness into
your waiting crevice of delight.
We seem to enjoy the gripping nature
of our hallucinations. Pretending we
are this or that makes us strong. I
like to toss your clothes into the
dryer and pretend I have smashed in
your brain.
Still, I handle your lying with pleasure.
Your words a never-ending cycle
of different points of view. Most people
prefer not to hear the truth and I am no
different. Your spectrum of lies promises
me a pot of deceit at the end of the rainbow.
"You don't excite me" you proclaim. Your
face an interesting mask of resentment.
"Ah, but I don't excite myself anymore"
I answer, with the proper level of
disdain peppering my vocalization.
I leave you to go to the store.
In my mind I go to purchase some
sort of toxic liquid to pour into
your coffee. I think I would find
it in myself to laugh if your
face bloated as you gasped for air.
We are the death. We are the beginning
and the end of one another.
Why can't I just stop reading your book?
Why can't I just walk back to the hole
I emerged from?
It must be the need, the longing.
We scream to everyone that we
are independent, solitary beings.
Yet, we are all afraid of
of being alone.
