Archive for women

What Happened Next

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2018 by beautifulimposter

The antique brass bell above the door gave its familiar clank as Abby walked into the café, shutting out the heavy, humid day and trading it for the slightly cooler interior. The broad, arched windows still let in an abundance of the syrupy morning light but it took a moment for her eyes to adjust as she made her way to the bar, passing the scarred tabletops and the artfully battered chairs. Everything about the place shrieked of bohemian authenticity, the overstuffed leather chairs in the alcoves arranged around mismatched and much moisture ringed coffee tables, the walls decorated with advertisements for vermouth and absinthe that would have looked just at home on the walls of an establishment along the Seine. That was the thing though, Abby knew, it was artifice. She’d found out after she started that the place had only been a café for about seven years before she’d been hired so what she’d thought of as a cool neighborhood place that had slowly accreted furniture and patina of time was just an illusion. The owners had spent a ridiculous amount of money making their brand new establishment look just the right kind of art shabby. The bell above the door was a reclaimed piece some pickers had probably sold them for far more than they’d bought it for from some couple emptying out their parents’ attic or barn, clearing out the last bits of whatever it had been from before, a bookshop or the family hardware store. The bar was brought all the way from Italy, she knew that, Jacob was always going one about it, from an actual old café. It was beautiful, certainly, made from cherry with a creamy marble inlaid countertop and a brass rail all around, but it was still fake in its own way, a bit of history wedged into a space it didn’t belong to lend some kind of pedigree that hadn’t been earned. Abby often thought there was some kind of life metaphor in that somewhere, but it was going to take someone much deeper than her to figure it out.

“Hey Samuel, here for my check”

“Abigirl, here bright and early as always, when it’s payday” Samuel turned from the end of the bar near the espresso machine, giving her his big smile. It was like getting hugged, that smile, wide, warm, bright. Sam’s eyes danced with it too and no matter how shitty a day you could be having it would wash over you and take you in. “How’s life treating you girl, haven’t seen you in a bit now?” He worked mostly days and her mostly nights, so it was kind of rare that they’d see each other much, which Abby felt kind of sucked really. She needed more smiles like that.

“Like a redheaded stepchild” she gave Sam her customary smirk, giving her ginger curls a bit of a tousle, “ so, you know, the usual”

Sam walked down the bar to the register, grabbing up the stack of envelopes tucked into the nook beside it, flicking through them. “Well, can’t be that bad now, bit of money in your pocket, at least for right now” he smiled as he talked, his teeth gleaming out from dark lips hedged round with a neatly cropped beard streaked here and there with grey standing out from the black.

“Yeah, ‘right now’ is the operative there, I think the most I’ll see of my check will be from here to the bank” he found the right envelope with her name and address peeping out through the little plastic window, held it out for her.

“I know how it goes, from one hand to the other, quick as quick, been working man all my life, so it goes” he chuckled a bit, shook his head “no use cryin’ over it though, just life right.”

“That’s what they keep telling me” she took her check from him, folded it and jammed it into her jeans pocket, leaving half poking out. “Speaking of one hand to the other, how about a coffee?”

“Comin’ right up Miss Abigirl, fresh pot just dropped” Sam grinned again, turning to fill a mug. Normally, Abby would give a thousand yard death stare to anyone who called her ‘Abigirl’ but Samuel got a pass, just because when he said it it sounded right. You make concessions for your friends. He turned back, handed the steaming mug off, took her bills, made change.

“You working tonight?”

“Nope, whole day off, wonder of wonders, I have a few things I need to get done but I wanted to refuel”

“Have a good one then Abigirl, enjoy yourself” another brilliant smile washed over her, but the tide turned itself as more people started coming in. “Got to hop, don’t let yourself be a stranger now girl.”

Abby turned, walked past the suits and skirts, the morning business crowd filing in for their lattes and americanos. She snagged a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs by the front windows, tucking her camera bag in between it and the little side table. She let her eyes and mind wander as she sat, legs tucked up under her, mug cradled in both hands, sipping at the steaming, rich, black coffee, rolling the bitterness around her mouth before swallowing. The café was filling up slowly but surely yet most of the tables were empty, a lot of to go orders flitting up to the counter then back out. Thoughts of odd bird behavior were already fading to the back of her mind, joining the forgotten dream of eyes, normalcy settling down to the usual humdrum of background chattering and the smells of espresso and steamed milk.

The bell gave a clonk and Abby glanced over to the door as a lean figure entered. A suit, but different, the cut better, the fabric a light grey, almost like a morning dove. Abby tended to notice the details, her mind framing the shot as if she was looking out from behind her camera. Short, jet black hair, neat, maybe graying at the temples a bit, swept back and gleaming; round, dark eyes that were framed with fine lines. She couldn’t for the life of her say why, but as the man walked past there was something, something just off in a way her brain couldn’t define. He placed his order with Sam then sat at one of the tables, pulling out a paper as he sat, one leg over the other. Abby checked herself, knew she was staring so turned her gaze to the dark mirror surface in her mug. The day’s sense of weirdness started tugging at the edges of her mind a bit, but she shrugged it off.

“Hey babe!” Out of nowhere arms grabbed Abby’s shoulders in a brief hug, followed by a flurry of short, bright blue hair past her eyes as Maggie sat down in the chair opposite hers. “Just can’t get enough of the place huh?” The big chair seemed to swallow Maggie whole, her rail thin frame scooting back into the deep seat.

“You know me Mags, glutton for punishment”

“Closet masochist, that’s what you are” Maggie settled into the chair, legs out, spread, taking up space. For someone about five foot nothing and ninety pounds soaking wet, Maggie just seemed to fill up everywhere she was. “It’s your fucking day off, what’re you doing here?”

“Paycheck, and a pit stop, needed to get gas” Abby held up her coffee as proof.

“Yeah, same here, was just stopping in for mine too when I saw you, thought I’d say hi” she leaned forward, fidgeted a bit, let her tongue wiggle the two rings through the corner of her lip. She was never still, just this tiny body of energy thrumming along at top speed. “Got plans? Nasrah and I were thinking of heading down to Market Square, doing a bit of grocery shopping, wanna come?”

“Got stuff to do Mags, run to the bank, get a few loads of laundry in, you know, fun day off type stuff.”

“You sounds like my mom”

“What’s wrong with that, I like your mom?”

“She’s fucking sixty, that’s what, Christ, I’m older than you and I’ve got more of a life.”

“I just like to have things done, I have a life every once in a while”

“Yeah, once in every too fucking long” Maggie sat back again, running her fingers through the blue wave of her hair. “It’s not like all that shit won’t be there tomorrow, so where’s the rush? Being all responsible is cool, but damn, have a bit of fun, go out, see stuff, get laid, something!”

“That’s the problem, it will be there tomorrow only more of it” Abby let Maggie’s rant roll over her, she’d heard it before and she knew Mags meant well. There was some truth to what she said too, but Abby ignored that bit as well. So she liked to get things done, it wasn’t like she was getting the early bird special and shuffling down to bingo. “Maybe I’d have more of a life if I wasn’t always the third wheel?” As Abby finished, Nasrah sat down beside Maggie, handing off one of the cups she’d carried over from the counter.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Maggie gave a lopsided grin at the dig, her eyes lighting up the way they always did whenever Nas was anywhere within twenty feet.

“I think Abby means she gets tired of us being all lovey dovey” Nasrah leaned forward, putting a delicate hand on Abby’s knee briefly, smiling her perfect smile. It was not hard at all to see why Maggie looked at her the way she did, she was beautiful to the point of it being offensive, long dark hair, big, deep, dark eyes, tall and sleek and perfect. Top that off with being sweet, genuine, and kind and it was no wonder at all.

“She’s just jealous is all” Maggie draped her arm over Nas’ shoulders as she sat back, leaning over to kiss her neck, knowing the pda would make Abby squirm, always teasing. If Abby was jealous of anything at all though it was that, the way they both could display such obvious affection so effortlessly. It was something Abby had never got the hang of.

“Maybe love, but I’ve been there and it can get old” Nasrah turned, gave Maggie a peck on the lips then turned back to Abby. “Did Mags invite you to go with us to the Market?”

“Yeah, but I was telling her I’ve got a lot to get done today, I really would come otherwise.” She meant it too, Maggie was her best friend and Nas was a very close second and she felt like it would be a good day to be around people. Maybe she could skip out on the chores a bit.

The scent of cherry lifesavers made Abby’s nostrils flare. “Sullivan, I need you to work tonight, four till close.” Jacob’s voice had Abby’s hands clenched around her mug, the heat of it burning her fingers. He loomed into view, chinos and polo shirt, the standard uniform. He stood in the space between the armchairs, arms crossed, glowering. “Had two people call in sick and there’s no one else.”

“Seriously Jacob, it’s my day off, you can’t find one other person?” Abby could feel herself shaking, the tears stinging the corners of her eyes more anger than anything else, but still maintaining control. “I bust my ass around here, pick up as many shifts as I can but I don’t want to live here, I’ve got stuff I need to do.”

“So get it done before four, I don’t know what to tell you, show up, or be looking for work tomorrow, got it.” His eyes were squinted, little icy chips in a stony face. “We all have shit to do, I’ve got ordering that needs getting out five minutes ago but you don’t hear me bitching. Just because you haven’t got your shit together doesn’t make it my problem.”

“Fine, just…fine, I’ll be here” Abby kept her voice even, her breathing controlled, gave a forced smile.

“Good.” With that, Jacob stormed off back to his office, leaving Abby with the strong urge to leap out of her seat, onto his back so she could gouge out his eyes. The impotent anger rolled through her like thunder, echoing around in her head.

“What a fucking prick!!!” Maggie went off into a tirade, but Abby was only half listening. She sat and seethed, her eyes wandering back over to the table with the grey suited man. He hadn’t moved much, just had his paper out in front of him, sipping a single espresso. Why did she always do that, why did she always just take it with a smile, fuck!!! As much as she may hate Jacob and his hands, his condescension, his vile, piggish attitude, she hated her cowardice so much more.

“Why do you take his shit?!?” Maggie wasn’t really looking for an answer and her expletive laden rant continued on unabated by Abby’s silence. As her mind turned over the encounter again and again, she still couldn’t help blankly staring. There was just something not right. He was just another business man, suit, tie, maybe a bit sharper than most. She looked at his face, his hands, trying to decide if his skin was more olive or light brown. This is not what you should be focused on she reprimanded herself, he’s just some guy, sitting there having coffee, reading the paper. Yet…at the edges of her mind it nagged, something fluttering, raising up the hairs on the back of her neck, like the feeling you get that there’s someone behind you when you enter a dark room even though there can’t possibly be…it was there, she just couldn’t put her finger on it, it kept squirming beneath her mind’s grasp. It was like, like, the shape wasn’t right, like there was a man shape but that wasn’t what was really there, almost like a double exposure but not…

“…he shouldn’t take it out on you, that’s just bullshit!” Abby snapped back to Maggie, words half heard rattling into place.

“Take what out on me?” She turned her eyes back to Maggie’s face, watching the outrage on her behalf change into something else. Maggie bit her lip, eyes flickering a bit nervously.

“I’m just saying, I mean, if he’s having a bad day or something.”

“That is so not what you meant.” Abby’s voice was cool “you know more than you’re saying Mags, so spill.”

Maggie glanced over to Nas, then back, looked down, clasp per her hands, rocked forward and back. “Look, I knew you weren’t going to say anything, so I gave Charlie a call.”

“What did you tell him?” Abby felt the anger shooting back up through her, shook with it, felt it burning in her throat.

“Just, you know, with Jake, always with the hands, giving you shit, I thought he should know. You don’t deserve any of the crap he gives you babe and I figured…”

“You figured I couldn’t take care of myself, that it?!?” The words snapped out from Abby’s lips. “So what, you thought Charlie would give him an ass chewing and it wouldn’t come back on me, like he wouldn’t figure I’d been the one to go running to Charlie?”

“I didn’t think…”

“No, you clearly fucking didn’t Mags, you just saw that I needed sticking up for, that I can’t deal, that I haven’t dealt with this shit all my life so you did what you do and mother henned me into a closer because that fucker has to spread his misery around.”

“She didn’t mean to do anything wrong Abby” Nas’ attempt to sooth, to calm, just made it worse, Abby knew, she knew she was taking it out on Maggie but it was too much, she felt hurt, betrayed, resented everyone always thinking they knew what was good for her. It was just too much. Abby stood up suddenly, sweeping up her camera bag.

“She never does, but it seems to just work out this way.” Both girls half rose, Maggie looking devastated, hands out to keep Abby from walking out. Abby slung her bag over one shoulder, held her hand palm down and out. “I’ve got to get going, I’ve got shit I need to do and it’s got to be done before four, talk to you later.” She stormed past Maggie and Nas’ protests, hit the door at stride and banged it open, making the bell above clang sharply. The traffic noises swallowed her up, but they couldn’t drown out the voices in her head as she fled.

Behind, in the café, a few moments later the man in the dove grey suit quietly folded his paper neatly, tucked it up under his arm, stood, brought his cup to the counter and walked with purpose to the door. He passed two young ladies, one consoling the other and walked out onto the street. He glanced about in either direction, his gaze sharp, questing, seeming to look through the jostling bodies swirling around him until it settled on a hint of red already a few blocks down. Turning, the man followed, melting into the stream of pedestrians. Very faintly, mixed in with the sounds of cars and the babble of voices, one could almost hear the beating of wings.

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The Girl Waking Up

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 31, 2018 by beautifulimposter

The eyes looked at her, looked through her, seemed to see everything there was in her to see, stripped through layers of pretense, the little fictions everyone maintains to stay whole, to stay sane. Two eyes glimmering in the dark, deep, as deep as the night sky in the spaces between the stars, rings of amber and gold circling wells of black just staring, seeing, knowing. Then the waves of it, falling down and down into them, the gravity of them pulling, smothering, the terrifying feeling of being alone, suffocating in its pure emptiness, it was too much, too alien and all on its own, singular and empty, oh so empty, not even air, no air, no…

Abby gasped awake, lids slamming open, taking in air with deep gulps. A trembling hand pressed against her forehead, slick with a thin sheen of sweat, fingers pushing the few stands of her hair back and up as she rose up from the dream. The room was still dark, still coming into focus, but it wasn’t the full velvet dark of true night, it had silver about the edges of it hinting at morning. Her head turned, hand fumbling now for her phone, thumbing the home key, the thin white numbers declaring at to be a bit after six am.

“Fuck me” the words hissed out into the thick, muggy air of her dim room. She closed her eyes again and found the dark behind them mercifully empty. The eyes had disappeared once more. She had no idea why she dreamed them, why a dream of eyes was so very frightening, but it was and they were just the same. The room was hot as hell but her skin was nothing but goosebumps and she shivered. “Get it together” a deep breath, then another. Abby sat up, throwing her legs over the side of her bed, kicking free from the twisted sheet. Daylight filtered in from behind the curtains, outlining the familiar clutter of her room. The dream faded away, being forgotten with each breath.

Time to get up I guess she thought to herself, pushing away from the bed, stumbling through the blanket of clothes, feet shuffling, eyes in that half open not quite awake squint as she wandered into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, cursing it’s brightness Abby fumbled her way through the usual ritual. She swore again as she stepped into the shower, the water turned full cold to wash off the stickiness, settling into the cool relief of it after a while. She hummed a bit, the remains of the night swirling down the drain.

On to the kitchen/living room, pulling on the old Murmurs t-shirt that had used to be her big sister’s, the fabric dragging on her still damp skin. Standing in front of the sink, water filling up the carafe, looking out the window but not really seeing anything, the usual line of flat, grey buildings crawling beneath the sky. Once the coffee was on, the machine gurgling to itself in a warm, fragrant steam, Abby untwisted the plastic bag, pulling out an English muffin, carefully plunging a fork into the soft, squidgy sides of it, pulling it apart just so that it came away in two halves of jagged deliciousness. Toaster, butter, jam, mug of coffee, sit.

Abby scrunched herself up small on the kitchen chair, taking a big, ungainly bite out of her toasted muffin, fully awake now. The light grew brighter and whatever bad dreams she’d had melted. A bit of buttery jam dripped down her chin and she wiped it up into her mouth. This was always her best time, sitting alone, watching the morning growing, eating breakfast, the only sound the rattling clank of the nearly useless air conditioner wheezing from her bedroom window. She absent mindedly pushed around the ripped envelopes and scraps of paper on the battered tabletop. The sight of a bill nagged at her but she pushed the thought back. It was her day off and she just didn’t feel like dealing with it now. She would eventually, of course, just not now.

The appearance of the bird nearly gave her a heart attack. Wings battered the air outside the kitchen window, muffled by the glass but the flurry of movement and sudden sound was magnified by the silence. A black, bullet head above a white collar stared at her from the fire escape railing, cocked at a curious angle.

“What’re you looking at?” Her heart was still hammering as she got up and walked over to the counter for a closer look. The bird, a magpie she thought, just kept looking at her, it’s eyes two tiny drops of ink. “Enjoying the view?” Abby chuckled softly, shrugged, then went to get dressed. It wasn’t too unusual, birds gathered outside all the time, but mostly pigeons. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was actually watching her either, but she shrugged the idea off. Just a dumb bird.

A few moments later and Abby was out the door, stuffing keys into her jeans pocket, grabbing her camera from the hook in the hall, hanging the strap around her neck. It was still early and there probably wouldn’t be that many people out and about which suited her just fine. Maybe she could get some nice shots in by the river, catch the light on the water just right. The outside air hit her cheeks, already warm, promising to be unbearable as the sun rose. She moved along quickly, eyes alert, the few vague people shapes catalogued in her head as she walked to the end of her street, took a left into the park. It was just early enough that the breeze was still able to rustle the leaves above, the sound of it so soothing. Why can’t it just always be like this Abby thought, just quite and soft. She never once looked up though, didn’t notice the narrow, sleek, dark shapes fluttering from branch to branch.

The water slipped by the low, grassy banks, it’s surface ribbons of current breaking up the sunlight. The big willow overhung the river, slender branches trailing in the flow of it. Abby squatted down, pulling the camera up, focusing it on the shifting patterns of light and dark. These were going to turn out well, she could feel it, almost see the images forming on the film as she clicked away. The second thunderous fluttering of the day had her stumbling back, landing on her ass.

“Jesus fucking christ, what is it with you today?!?” This time it was a large crow, his wings settling along his back like a schoolmasters hands. He cocked his head to one side, then the other, croaking softly. Abby gave a crooked grin, watching him hop-step in front of her. Without quite knowing why, she brought her camera to bear once more. “Want your picture taken, that it?” She clicked away, muttering under her breath, “that’s it, oh yeah, fierce, work it, oooooh, right there, a bit more pout, lemme see those bedroom eyes.” In spite of herself Abby laughed as the crow strutted back and forth, occasionally giving the thick grass a vicious pecking. “You know a pervy magpie by any chance?”

“Crawk!” It was almost, but not quite a response. A strange feeling prickled at the base of Abby’s neck, the fine hairs standing up. “What’s got into these fucking birds today?” She stood, taking a step back. Whatever peace she’d felt, the satisfaction of doing a thing she loved, how she saw the world through the camera lense fled. “Seriously, go fuck yourself Mr. Crow” Brow crinkled, Abby turned away, walking back the way she’d come. She’d need to stop by work, get her check, then the bank. Her mind wandered back on to normal thoughts, trying to push away the sudden oddness. Were there really more birds than usual? No, just her vicious mind toying with he again. “Get a fucking grip”

Abby left the park, her feet finding the familiar grooves, the growing sounds of cars and people washing over her, walking off the unease behind her. Just another day, one more in a long line of them, same as before, same as the next. She let out a sigh and went over her list, the things that needed done. As she let herself get carried out into the city, Abby didn’t once look up, didn’t see the flock of crows and magpies trailing behind her like autumn leaves, didn’t feel the eyes on her, black ringed with amber gold watching from their perch upon the blank streetlight as she passed beneath. They followed her until she walked out of sight, another girl fading into the crowd.

Turn of the Tide

Posted in Poetry, Social Commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 8, 2017 by beautifulimposter

There is rust upon the tongue, flakes of grit
The taste of metallic decay, bitter silences
Poisoning all thought, each stillness the longer echoing
Of all the words trapped beneath cowardice
Or strangling themselves stillborn,
Infinite infant corpses dangling faux tears
Strung grisly ornamental from spiny, crusted lashes.

Something rotten indeed
Cloying, unlovely, limping mockery
Nuzzling lascivious leaving viscous fingerprints
Stains beneath the flesh, the marks of remembrance
Bruises and cuts clawed desperate fingers digging
Oh, to remove the cancer bequeathed
Undressing bare to the bone not ever clean enough.

Bouquets of fear in full bloom thorn tearing
Wrung hands raw, wounds upon wounds
Every day, over and over and over
One moment, one touch, one word, or look, or any other abuse
The wreaths hung choking in lungs buried beneath
Crushing weights, pinned butterfly beneath the thumb of oceans
Gasping in the dark alone and alone and alone…

…when of a sudden, a match is struck,
Timid flickering, more shadow than orange burning
But warmth where there was cold, a point
Fixed, a spar to cling, then another upon another
Till there is a torrent of pricks in the night
A blaze, one into one into many and there is a raging blossom
Strong and terrible and righteous.

She Suffers No Fools

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on August 15, 2015 by beautifulimposter

There’s a “fuck you”
Coiled around the corners
Of her lips
A rebuke, a lash
Thorns hidden among
The petals
Cunning and coy
An invitation or perhaps a dare
Promising nothing
Equal guarantee of succor
Or sting.

Poised defiance
Knowing she could
Burn any suitor down
To a shell of ribs and ash
Not caring in the slightest
How many fling themselves
Beneath her dainty feet
Falling deliberate devastation
With a long suffering smile
Hinting itself
As we poor fools
Fly gladly into the flame.

Her

Posted in Previously published elsewhere, Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 29, 2015 by beautifulimposter

I actually wrote this a little while ago just on my tumblr blog as a sort of exercise, but I like how it turned out as this little prose piece so I thought I’d put it up here as well.

Ok, so here’s the deal. I like breasts. No, I love breasts, and thighs, and bellies, and hips, and buttocks. I am addicted to the artwork of a woman’s body, I just am. I know there is vastly more to any individual than the accidents of their physical form, intellectually I know this. Yet still, when I see a woman, her curves whether subtle or overt, I find myself entranced. It is an entirely shallow obsesstion, and I must admit I feel guilty, a part of the problem, just one more greasy pig fumbling in my pants, panting and salivating. I can’t help myself though, as my eyes linger just a little too long on the bow of her lips, the column of her neck, perhaps the small of her back, any women, all women, describing beauty and grace. They’re everywhere too, just stealing every breath I have, all of them, all of the time. I don’t know what they’re doing with all of it, but I’d like to have at least some back because it’s hard to go through life drowning.
There’s never any thought of possession though, no covetous, greedy, grasping and clutching. I’m just happy that they’re there, out there, going to the shops, working, laughing, living, doing the things we all do but making this world just that much more lovely. So quietly, I look, maybe smile a bit, wonder to myself what it might be to run my fingers through her hair or what her skin might smell like after a day spent out in the rain. Any her, all of the hers out there, that are or were or will be, in all of the forms and hues. I can’t help it, for me the definition of beauty is and can only be her. I don’t know what that means, or what that makes of me and trust me, I have spent a great deal of time thinking about it, but in the end all I know is, well, that I love breasts…and bellies and thighs and curves and smiles and everything that forms the shape of her on this earth.

Voices of October, Lust, Heaven, and Disrepute

Posted in Poetry, Spoken Word with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 2, 2014 by beautifulimposter

Devastation In A Little Black Dress

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 20, 2014 by beautifulimposter

Whiskey amber loose string guitar moan

Hips keeping metronome time

Tick-tocking limbic slow

Reptilian hind brain light switching

Steel wire tugging

Pulling bone deep

Fingers running wanton

Through chocolate ribbon hair

Lips curling silent visceral snarl

Revealing glimpse of dainty ivory

Lethal sharp hunger

A promise, a warning

Body free of eyes clinging tighter

Than silken fall of little black dress.

Alone, singular, proud

A naked blade

Opening every vein in the joint

Fresh blood washing clean

Any previous possession of
fingerprints

All futile claims upon flesh

Might as well attempt to hold

A dancing flame

One way or another

She will consume you

Swallowing whole every last inch

Licking the scraps clean

With a tongue that has no need

To ever taste your name.

Indifference drips

In every move whispers “fuck you”

To all the sweaty, panting boys

Desperate fumbling themselves

In the shadows cast

By her, flickering scarlet streak

Laughing as they spill useless seed

Down pant legs slobber soiled

Needless and heedless

Breaking them all to pieces.

You will never have her

Even if she permits you

To kneel quivering at her heel

Hands trembling supplicant

To the tease of her hem

All you will ever be

Is her victim

Don’t ever fucking forget it.