Sunday, April 26, 2009

Where it is often

Where it pushes and pulls for excitement
A born-again toilet cubicle
Rather than with Eros
Laying beside you

Where it’s a cathartic code fuck
That only returns to sender
A hit of nostalgia

Where it’s always pussy and tits
An empty-fit times six billion
Simulated rape scenes
Emotion without feeling

Where it calls you a misogynist
A post-post feminist
Rather than a third wave
Middle-class pretentious

Where it loves your poetry
A face full of cock
Beg for clarity, abstinence
Through writer’s block

Where it’s never coming back
A spectacle of abuse
Your father’s hand to
Tie the lie-cum-noose

Where it’s a text message kiss
Detached reinforcement with an x
To pointless conversation
Rather than sex

Where it’s screaming desperate tears
Of love and life on the verge
It is always thrown away
But now and then

It hurts.


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