Lost Themes

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A woman in the shadow of a man. A flower in the shade of a mountain. Lovers. Fathers. Themes for disappearing and a voice that breaks whenever he’s not around. Sit in the bathroom sobbing. Break down and curl into a ball but you’ll never leave even though you promise it every night after he’s done pumping his seed into you before turning his back letting you drift into nothingness all alone and with no one to call your own. When did you become little more than a cum bucket? When did a creature so beautiful and pure decide it was time to become so willingly crushed? Put a smile on and spray yourself with essence of cat shit. Comb your hair and pretend this is what you wanted. Finger yourself in the broom cupboard with a rag in your mouth while thinking of the one you wish would come and save you. Stifle those screams as your bone machine sleeps above your head dreaming of all the young pussy he’d like to fuck but he settles for you because he knows you won’t talk back. Such an obedient thing you’ve become, but little does he know the thoughts that race through your mind as those fingers slide in and out in search of the one you wish would be your superhero. There are times you think it will work, and others when you think it’ll be best to trap him with a kid, because hey, there’s nothing like squeezing out a plump little maggot in the hope of making things better. Your friends do it, so you can too! Your lips are obsidian; they bleed as you bite hard on the rag that soaks up all of your saliva. They glisten as you stand before the bathroom mirror with only the light of the moon giving you form. Say my name, and give yourself to what you know you shouldn’t. Spell out each of those nineteen letters, and wait for my touch. Together, we can become whatever we want. Together, with hellbound hearts, we can destroy all that we have no need for.

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