Tuesday, 10 April 2012

Natural-born Whore

A long, blank stare --
Pupils dilated,
Lips slightly parted.

Inhale, Exhale.

Tongue stuck out
to lick the flesh moist.

Heavy breathing
in the quiet of the night;
there, supine, she lies
on stiff cotton sheets
rough against her skin.

Rolling, rolling,
eyes dry against their sockets
as her mind swims in images
of things she wished didn't exist.

Throbbing, throbbing,
 her whole body aching.
All the sins of the world
now dumped unto her chest.

But her legs are now folded,
shoulders limp,
neck unwound;
(still, breathing is hard.)

The guilt -- what of it?
There is nothing worth loathing
more than herself:
a misdeed of curiosity.

(The cat is dead once again.)

No love,
just painful emptiness
and the company of that one regret.

Would you still touch her?

#

Hi, I'm not dead yet! April is almost halfway done but I still have no idea how to spend the summer. Nowadays (I hate that word) I take random trips to the mall (or malls) and just walk around like a friendless loser. I think I'm turning into a potato.

Nevertheless I will still try my best to find something interesting. In the meantime I will compel you all (if the you here is actually existent) to read poems. (See previous entries.) I write poems because I'm bored. (Where I live, people write poems when they're bored . . . or kinky. BUT what's the difference? Ha ha.)

"Natural-born Whore" is the title of the third part in Natsuo Kirino's 2003 novel Grotesque. It's an exciting, if not disturbing, read. Go buy it!

P.S. I found this guy in a friend's anthology of literary work. Blame him for my emotive verses!

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