19/10/2022
Spun
It holds, like a sickness you love,
Like a spear in your ribcage,
An umbilical one
Caught
Like a fly in the web selfspun
Hissspun-
The smiles, of pity, of learnt sympathy to mimic love
A pat and a kiss, a payment for the service. A five star one indeed.
Hunger
When the distinction between fiction and reality is blurred, then what you are seeing is fiction
Spun
Tis not real, watered down and pisswarm
Save your love in a jar, spare me this moment of clarity so that in it's eyes I can see and then deny
Tis not not love what you swallow
Fed on void to fatten
You are the meal
You are the meat
Juicy meat
Full o' flavor
Like warm butter
Meat child, soft and buttery
Battery
Buttery
Battery
You must produce to be of use
Tis not a warm place to rest your head
To sleep like a child
To build a nest that would hold the entire world if the entire world is Two.
Temporary embrace to fill the temporary void, I have always been exceptionally good at filling voids
By gutting myself,
And pooring the insides into another hopeless vessel
No longer Shapeless
For a while
Filled and fed
by men that are dead
Or am I
Am I
What is I
Now Shapeless
1+1+oneandahalf equals this current
To find a Home less temporary than this decaying suit.
I hold a cave between my legs.
Spiderwebs drawn on my thighs
Pillows for restless heads
Empty breasts hang like fruit in August
Attracting flies and bees
Sugar
And meat for the wasps
Meat, glorious world turner
Hanging from a web it resembles the womb
Pulsating and squirming within, wings have formed, molting and melting and molding and moulding, and holds a hundred skins and a hundred forms one over the over
And another
And another
One I shed and two more are created.
-R
