Tag Archives: poet

Romantic Origin

You laughed

as we drove 

away. I busted

you out, Puddin’.

I busted you out.

 

You threw me out

our door, green hair

a brandished weapon.

I had to prove myself,

make you laugh.

 

I remember

seeing you the first

time. Grin

menacing. A rose

in my office. A note.

 

I caught him,

Mistah J.

He hung upside

down. Piranhas.

You didn’t appreciate

it. I fell from the window.

 

Puddin’ you made

me laugh. Arkham

had been my choice,

not yours, Love.

And you made me laugh.

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Making Love

Dominatus‘ new one

is done already.

She looks beautiful.

 

From the fifties,

my love.

 

I watch him work.

He goes over to his old one.

I watch him take

 

out his scalpel.

He slid it over the skin

of her throat seductively.

 

He was having sex

with her, using

his scalpel.

 

I love you,

my darling April.

You are my showers.

 

His voice was melodic.

The scalpel penetrated

her epidermis and slashed.

 

She now wore a red dress.


Doll to be Prepared

I was prepared.

My hair was permed,

extensions added in for length.

Make up everywhere needed.

He made sure I was perfect.

 

He put a red dress

on my body. Black evening

gloves on my hands and arms.

I haven’t seen myself

in the mirror, yet.

 

Gently, He put on

a silver necklace.  I feel

my skin breaking out.  He positioned

a pose between my fingers.

It was red.

 

His hands were gentle

as He caressed my throat.

My skin opened up and like a faucet,

something poured over my

chest.

 

It all went black.


New Doll

Knees together

Eyes open

Her head-tilted

Not moving

 

She’s his new one

His favorite.

I hate her.

She’s taken him.

 

Both hands

On couch

Feet in heels

apart

 

I want his attention

I can’t move.

He’s brushing her hair.

Its my fault.

 

Yellow skirt flowers

White top

Puffed sleeves

Knee-high socks

 

I’m used, dirty.

That doll is his favorite.

He’ll do it to her, too.

She’s lucky.

 

Perfectly straight

Blonde hair

Wide eyes

Pouty lips

 

She’s perfect.

I’m not.

I’m broken, she’s whole.

I want him to love me again.

 

She’s scared.

I’m trash.

 


Trapped

Dressed to the nines

Posed at the gate

Can’t move can’t move

Why can’t I move?

 

Just passed the gate

Are cupcakes

I’m so hungry

My arm hurts

 

Under my skin

The hard metal moves

and my nerves stand on end.

 

He’s come back.

His voice echos in my head

and gives me a headache.

 

“Here you go, beautiful doll,”

he whispered in my ear. “I’ll

let you wear a different dress.”

 

I try to beg

“Just let me go!”

His hands are cold.

 

I’ve been repositioned.

One arm up, one down.

Will this—