Monday, 21 September 2015

Prude

     It keeps coming to me. Portraits instilled in my mind. They linger on so quietly. Won't you help me hurt myself? In the line between fainting and sleeping. Drenched and immature. On the floor that we carved with our teeth and nails.Or staying calm and safe under our blankets. In the backroom  she's been hostile. And she fell for the thought of me. If I could trust her innocence. But I'm afraid of losing touch. I'll write it all down for you. And your terrible memory. I always go negative. Forget everyone you ever knew now.

     Our feelings have never been this primitive.

     Yell at the wall smash your face against it
     Turn your insides out and scream at your ovaries

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