the pain sluts huff paint
while the bitchwhipping
continues – just because it
hurts doesn’t mean i
don’t want it bad. i’m exploring
the pomegranate to find
a new kind of evil.
dig a little deeper, baby
you might make me cry –
every interaction is serious.
step away from the counter.
you may catch more flies
with honey, but the last time
i put cunt juice behind
my ears the chick next
to me pulled a root. but
dogs behave badly anyway
and i’m too miserable to
masturbate unless it’s to a
nasty rape scenario –
everything looks better
in black and white.
step away from the counter.
there are things i can’t catch
in a butterfly net, but i love
my answering machine.
bad news delivered through
a sieve, recorded to play
over and
over and
over and
over and
over –
“you are not included.”
step away from the counter.
having time on my hands i
teach myself to piss
standing up, but it’s just a case
of renaming my dead horse
to flog it for marketing purposes,
of looking for clues after
the crime’s been solved.
so sew my lips shut and
call me silent susan –
i’ll have my day in the
coroner’s court.
step away from the counter.
i’m in the pursuit of happiness
but he’s a fucken fast runner
in the moment between
the screech and the crash,
with bed partners as
temporary as my sanity
it’s not until i’m at the top
of the silo that anybody’s
interested in my victim
impact statement. this
could only have been
painted by a mad man.
step away from the counter.
Roxy Contin