singpowrimo
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Stifle your stomach. Unswallow the thigh; grind chicks to bloody mist. White men in suits hung out to dry: unclothed all this meat’s the same mess. Unfill the vein, empty the conscience. Blank it. Blanche the brain. In this diet skinless breasts are but vital. Who washes away the blood does not matter. The product…
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draft 5 after a lot of feedback from fellow participants of #SingPoWriMo. Much thanks to all. This is hopefully the last draft: I am content as is.
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Prompt for Day 24:
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It is the waking step you miss dreaming. The gap between the train and platform, just big enough for your thigh. An empty desk in class with flowers atop, like a crown. What you find when you spread her legs, look in her eyes. The end of pages in a book. When your teeth eat…
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your footsteps form a steady beat, like a god-be-damned EDM bass; inhaling and exhaling in a trance, hoo ha, hoo ha; the fucking sun needs to chill the fuck out; wow your sports bra is as brazen as my nipples; an ear-bud dangles like a tendril; now your shoe-laces are coming loose but stopping only…
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We were the first and third person to the scene of the crime. This butchering of a language, the breaking of an unbroken word. We were the kamikaze pilots in the jets and the sailors on the ship: the single and the plural, the loop of has, has-not and has-been. Point is at least one…
ugly stage 