I Dare You To Write, Chickenshit

I wear matching underwear
which you will never see.
I used to shave, to be free from shame
but your hairs caught in my teeth.
From virgin swaddling cloth
to proud naked ape, walking tall
as gravity displays it’s rude power.

This lump in my throat
refuses to dislodge, so
I wear it like a velvet choker,

anxiety is the new black.

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The Mourning After – a Pantoum

An illusion of intimacy
Slashes of light on sullied sheets
Held in a steel octopus embrace
Shallow breaths of poisoned air

Slashes of light on sullied sheets
Waiting silently in Pandora’s box
Shallow breaths of poisoned air
Leaden hands can’t reach the keys

Waiting silently in Pandora’s box
Perfumed bodies scent the room
Leaden hands can’t reach the keys
Coarse exhales like rusted blades across skin

Perfumed bodies scent the room
Voices vibrate through the walls
Coarse exhales like rusted blades across skin
Eyelashes threaten with every twitch

Voices vibrate through the walls
Anticipation rises and falls with the chest
Eyelashes threaten with every twitch
Evidence discarded carelessly on the damp floor

Anticipation rises and falls with the chest
Held in a steel octopus embrace
Evidence discarded carelessly on the damp floor
An illusion of intimacy

I want it all. I want it now.

Like rushing towards the peak of an orgasm but you need one more stroke. Denied, denied.

Like you have already been shot up with all the speed in the world but it’s a ticking time bomb you have to continuously top up.

What can you take, what can you smoke, what can you devour, what can you fuck.

What do you care? About the stares. The stairs to the heavens.