evil healing

it’s something like performance art

getting fisted on the kitchen counter sipping whiskey and

my louboutins in your mouth

this is the good part

the hotel room with its maroon tiles

drawing hearts in the fogged up glass for someone to see later

someone loved and someone was here

“you cannot kill me in a way that matters”

i heard lately that your obvious art is your best art and so i release myself from the fog of ambiguity.

i love you neptune and you have served me well.

i’ve been waiting, i’ve been dripping with want, i’ve been contorted into experimental forms now i want to be specific

the dried apricot slices and the dark room

findom dating and lipstick and luxury

skipping stones

i want to be sexy like flesh spilling out from the wrong places, like hunger like

sapiosexual like fuck that girl is just dripping with poetry and i want to reach inside it and fuck it

this flesh is just a vessel and i am a vessel of pleasure and decadence

i’ll do it with or without an audience, slide my finger across the grout, create a world i want to live in

i’m not a writer of essays or interested in experimental forms

i’m a slut and a novelist

i’d rather sell porn than my diary. maybe that makes me the problem

i’d rather strut around a st andrews cross than read sad poetry

i’m not 14 anymore

i want to bear teeth, to play executioner with a sparkle in my eye, to slip into new skin

lets call it evil healing