Fantasy.NonFiction

Give us this day, our daily hunger… that’s helpful she sighed, and she knelt before him, unrobed. Give us this day, our daily hunger that we may sink our teeth and bite, and claw, and scream, and hit and be sated. Give us this day, our daily hunger…

 

She’s like watching a slow motion
explosion
some chaotic glorious
reinterpretation
like those phrases stuck in your
mind shaken up and spilled
forth a million different ways.

She’s a symbol, she’s a metaphor
a fantasy a mind fuck
identity fuck
playtime
She’ll be you babysitter

naughty. dirty. inappropriate. wrong.

She’s consumed these arrows
her juices marinating
repression
until she gushes forth
the unruly child of a perverted system.

Slyce. A body, toy.
A dumb poet.
A pouting genius.
A twisted private pornstar
Squeeze her and she moans
a cunt doll made for your pleasure
Fuck her and it doesn’t take long
for her to beg you with her eyes
and open mouth

With black lace gloves and a laugh to make you shake.

She grabs your cock
and uses it
until you swear it was hers.
She demands it.
And she gets it.

She’s everything
that’s been sliced out, censored,
adjusted cut away to be made pretty, conventional mainstream

systems have been put in place
to secure tourniquets
about our emotions
halt our stuttering Tongues
when we would speak our
lusting truths

She’s an army of burned pages, amputated organs, dreams lost to medicated death prescribed from 9 to 5, and those naughty impulses reduced to the tar you scrape from the bottom of that coffee pot at the office every Friday.

She’s the dirty delicious scraps on
the floor-
the unattainable wild child
born of those stray seeds.

Slyce.
bad. slap. wrong. slap.
Naughty Naughty Naughty. slap.