down in me

I feel untethered.

I read this in the street on the way home the other day. It contributed to my feelings of existential loneliness and despair. It contributed to my feelings of hopelessness and dread. It contributed to my feelings of fear and spiritual starvation. You should read it, too, though I’ve got number 39 of 50, apparently, so I will feel like a .50 caliber special if you can’t get one anymore.

Meanwhile, I’m a smallish red balloon floating around a musty European town, looking for a nice boy to follow.

Adrift.

I’m off.

Everyone that looks your way wants to see your warm, white face smile. Every man whose eye line you unwittingly cross intersects the passing between lust and desire. You could feel pretty, or not. You could feel smart, or not. Unequivocally, they want to put their cocks in your brain and hump your earlobe silly. And maybe your eye socket, too. Who needs to see, when a face full of cock is all you ever dreamed. Feel them snaking in and out of slobbery holes, fat, thick, animated; plump wet, New-York-rat-width worms throbbing in your skull. See the lights, see the lights, Maria. You were conceived but for one purpose:

To Be Face Fucked

Though you passed unseen, in your head sexual organs were magnified a million times over. Multiple cocks, large and hard as apartment blocks and just as cold and sterile. Tits like hackneyed mountain peaks and pussies gaping as the sea. But you can’t live there, then, in your head. It’s too full so let’s just blow it off and start afresh. You can’t give birth, you un-special. Come now. That’s not semen in your belly, darlin’, it’s just the yellow snow.

glazed gazing at the hollows of her thighs
I thought about the places where the body folds
and eats itself
where cream breast
meets rib
hollow points, shallow

places we want to see and have seen and not be seen for jerks
places we want to touch and be touched and not be taken for rides

dark meeting sincerely
you push
I cave
I push
you burrow
you laugh
I quiver
you shake
I come

boys and girls of all colours and sizes size me up to stand down and
I need them to strike me soon
I need to be felt outrageous

Death, come quietly to me; I’m sick of trying, trapped, bound. I want to lose the fear in a hacking coughing fit. I brought it up. I can spit it out, I try, I’m sick of trying, death come quietly, we need no more raucous inertia tonight. I’m sick of being you, waiting for you to come circles full and aching, bound bound bound. I just want a cock in mouth, a handle to hold of bicycle bars, breasts to nuzzle into and honk the horn; I forget myself. I should be insistently if not actively calling for death, this is the death prayer, but the fantasies of this reality hold me steady. Awake. Why am I still fucking awake? I’ve lost the thread and I care that you know.

The funny thing is that you just have to ask. Strangers, in public, just ask me: I’ll give you. Sit at my table uninvited: I’ll marry you. Sleep next to me on the early morning train: I’ll cuddle you. Push me to the back and force me: I’m the best victim. Just tell me what to do, Jack. Tell me what to do.

If you can’t smell me, do I really exist?

I can’t fucking believe / I rubbed one out / to a picture of your insecurity

She came over all trailer-trashed
glassy-eyed, flip-flopping
tube of Prep H and a bottle of Diet Coke in her
cheap chipped red nail-polish hands.
Rub it in for me will you daddy?
Course I will darlin’
hop on daddy’s lap.
She didn’t hop so much as he
grabbed her meaty waist and flung her over.
Daddy’s gonna make it all better
licked his thumb and forefinger and
rubbed them over her wrinkle swollen hole.
No daddy, I’m sick! she squealed,
I’m sick daddy.
Alright darlin’ settle down.
He squirted the cold gel
she squirmed from the cold gel.
Thank you daddy.
He swatted her away
slurping at the Coke bottle
looking at him sideways.

Acid-tongued, upper east side debutante.