Heroin was the most deliciously evil vagina I ever kissed. Sweet throes and rushings of fog and mist. Corpulent tides of bliss washing over my bedraggled corpse. We danced only once during the halcyon days of my misspent youth. I snorted her thinking she was cocaine, animal tranquilizer or something equally innocuous. I felt a rush of fear as if someone demon had injected acid into my psyche. Wrapped in the depths of her blankets, I was terrified I had fallen into a pit of whose depths I would never extricate myself from.
I was a prisoner in her bed. She convulsed and squirmed, grinding her hips on my face, suffocating me with her multiple orgasms. For hours it seemed I was unable to move from the hypnotic poppy induced rape. A helpless victim waiting for the business end of her concealed dagger to lodge between my ribs and bullet from her twisted leperus boyfriend hiding in the closet to make double damn sure this latest fool was spent and deceased.
When I emerged from paralysis and fitful dreamtime, she had already put on her clothes, sprayed perfume on her cunt and left a calling card at the foot of my bed. I was astounded not to be dead, terrified of how much I loved her torture and how I would in a heartbeat give my life to have her kill me again.
I never invited that bitch back into my bedroom again.
Shine
The furnace wherein
I became a diamond
became littered with
shedded skins
of the torturous me
inverse sadist
who found consolation
in the smell of burnt flesh
thirst quenched by bloodlettings
from invited rape
provoking nocturnal emissions
I possessed the grace and shame
to extract these delights
only from myself
the self-medicating patient
I gave freely to my darkened self
circumambulating windershins and deosil
poison around my heart, life and brainstem
preparing the fuse lighting
for a grand alchemic display
of suicidal fireworks
concocting a cauldron of bile
duct taped with nails
shot from my eyes
splinters of my mind
with a kiss of bone shards
I’d show those bastards
how bright I can fucking shine
igniting the sky
with a cascade of damnation
raining iron and fools gold
down upon their shriveled heads
no one to save them
or me
from this wrath
except me
When the day came
to take an axe to the furnace
the bomb finally exploded
in silence
as I gazed into a mirror
while in the throes of LSD
the infant was birthed
releasing the corpse
I had been carrying
Peter Pan died that night
and Tinkerbell
could not have been happier
because I finally killed the fiend
who threated to smash the mirror
that I crawled out of
to prevent the infection
of the sky
above the world
that so richly deserved
to be unpoisoned
when the boy
would lie upon the grass
that first springtime
gazing above asking
why
God
why?
To this day I still don't know how I made my way out of that terrible patch of shit. Miracles happen.
All my love always,
Max
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