Wednesday, 30 June 2010


man, some days are a complete and utter failure.

So, all you have to do, eventually, all you can do, eventually, it will come to this, is go at medicine cabinet or wherever they're kept, or rummage through the drawers for a razor, go to your room, safely latch the door, crouch down on floor with back against the bed's edge, and carve the world "loser" in your forearm, draw the lines over and over again until it bleeds deep enough, then proceed to carve another mantra against your thigh.

...until the day begins to have some meaning again

-and one is for sure: we all sell our souls to the highest bidder-


"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him an ass, and he will tell you the truth."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

That face in the mirror, it wasn't his or hers. It had struggled with sex, genre, style, identity, and had reformed itself again and again, in search of one and only reality, one person, one face that would apply to the entire world. Maybe at some point, it took it too far, or did some idiotic fuck-up, and now lay semi-bare, semi-exposed in the mirror, behind the glass, waiting for the verdict.

Okay, hit me. Okay, throw the first fucking stone if it makes you feel so good about yourself. Tie me to the shrine and sacrifice the face to your mission. You're right. I deserve it. I'm not saying i don't.

My purpose in this face is to be humble, and angry, but mostly the lesson it shall learn is humbleness.

That face that looks at its face in the mirror: obviously hurt, and concentrated which brings about a wrinkle or two, very faint, on the forehead. Apart from the predicaments of human, aand particularly this human's expression (hovering somewhere between caricature and complete lack of expression thereof) the face's features are: ordinary, common. People say it's cute which is another way of saying "non-spectacular, blah, whatever". Right? It feels ugly. That makes him feel more special. Like he could make a difference.

What do you see when you look at this face?
I'm not sure since it changes so often.
Are you saying i'm a liar?
I see a face asking to be mauled, and that would fix you for good.
Am I being banished?
No, you're to be punished.
Oh, cool. Thanks, I guess. Now i can be myself again.

Back to the face in the mirror: you brush an eyebrow into shape, and are momentarily confused to see a finger doing the same at the face in the mirror. You poke a finger in one nostril, in the mirror: the same. Dig it around. Nose looks inflated on one side. Ha, ha, better. Remove fnger and there's some blood. Even better.

There's a barrier somewhere there, between the cavity of the nose and the brain, a bone perhaps, if you break through it and poke around with something sharp, you access the brain, particularly a brain area that, once dead, can turn you into a zombie. Or so i've read. In a book, there was a psychopath serial-killer and wanted to create his army of zombie sex slaves. The experiments were a failure. The boys lived for a while, unresponsive to any stimuli, drooling from the mouth, brain-dead, shallow breathing, until he fucked the life completely out of them.

His thoughts are so vague and fake and meaningless and scattered to so many directions, they make his eyes look dumb, smudged from the canvas of reality, his face the abstract contour of a malicious retard trying to be smart.

Now he sees what those people drooling over him see. Idiocy brings out the best in him. I guess it's okay since it can buy him drugs, oblivion, a different perspective of self, a new face, internet access.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Your ass is so expressive, so opinionated, so beautiful..."

Maybe if I could crap from my mouth and speak with my asshole, I'd be Einstein, I'd have found the cure for cancer, maybe i'd get respect then. My ass is the perfect face, one that covers or completely erases reality, one that could lure you into obsession, lust, love, death, madness, an ass more eloquent and earnest than any word coming out of these keys, if only it were mine, this perfect mask.


"Shut up, i need to have a heart-to-heart with your ass."
"Shhhhht, baby, now let your ass do the talking."


"Should I go and leave you two alone?"
Trying to be smart now? The nerve of you...
"Mmhm" slurp-slurp-plop "What? you said something?"
"No - go on."
And: slurp-slurp-slurp.

I lie with my face on the pillow and try to conjure up a better place. Bad luck. A better face. Worse lack.

His ass yawns. But in an obviously unforgettable manner. I can hear the ahs ond oohs, as if a new wonder of the world has just been revealed. The audience applauds and hoots and cheers. What a SHOW!

His ass is a selfish bastard. Mine is just ambitious. But in a benign way.

Tuesday, 29 June 2010


[and now an upsetting note on bliss]

((You are shallow but we can have deep conversations
You're religious, I'm not
You're about the only person I can't wait to see again
Maybe my heart palpitates a bit when i text you
I want to buy you clothes, not just drugs))

And I smiled.

(p.s.: thanks to Nick for teaching me the value of size, sorry for the appropriation)


the thoughts that are not mine:

bleed for your country

bleed for God

bleed for politics

bleed for love

bleed for life

bleed your labouring hands

bleed for wife, kids, the house on the hill, the german car, 'n sunshines

but for me, it only was:

bleeding fuckeing queer

why is your inner thigh bleeding

bleeding yourself is no right, you have self-destructive urges, it's sick, you suicidal?

i'm gonna bleed you, you fuck

bloody hell, he's crying

what's these bloodstains in your underwear?

you a girl? you bleeder? ha ha haaaa

"he was found bleeding from the rectum"

babe, i'm gonna bleed into you


Sunday, 27 June 2010


...forgive me Father, for i have sinned...

i have these thoughts, father, nasty thoughts, take them away from me, father, please make them stop, mak'em disappear, i wanna be pure, father, late in bed, i used to dream, father, oh, bad bad dreams, wicked they are, wicked thoughts in my head, i'm scared, they scare me, father, they scar me, i know they can see the scars, it's the mark of cain, imprinted on my soul, father, if i have a soul it's rotten, fetid, for everuone to hear, smell, how putrid it is, the mark, father, the curse, burned into the forehead, glowing, they saw it and they hunted me down, father, like the animal i was, like the animal i am, they hunted me with stones, yelled names at me, tried to scratch and peel the mark off my brow for i was evil, father, and the blood ran into my eyes and they laughed, and i ran and they let me run, and they caught up with me again, and howled and hooted, a game to them, father, i was trapped, there were many boys, older boys, made fun of me, shoved elbows and feet into my ribs, made fists and swore, faces glistening red, eyes glistening red, i closed my eyes, father, and prayed, father, prayed they'd not hear my fears, my thoughts, my desires, the filthiness in my head, i prayed father, it must've screamed out to them, they spat at me father, and i hadn't the words to beg, they knew, they heard me, father, twisted, evil, they said, sick, sick, sick, you're fucking sick, sorry father, that's what they said, they'd wash me clean, they said, the scum clean, i deserved it father, i did, and they lifted me by the armpits and i thought they'd tear off my arms, and laughed and whispered as they dragged me to the warehouse, on my way home, i was thinking nothing bad then, only to get home in time before the storm, and mum'n potroast and my favorite tv program, and they just came along with their bikes, and kicked and picked and dragged me there, in the abandoned warehouse with its smells of mould and shit and rust, junkies used to go there to hit and crash probably, father, in the air the smell of human despair, i can recognize it anywhere, now, back then i didn't know what it was, the smell of fear, excitement, thunder crackling, electricity amidst sweaty bodies, they pushed and shoved me around, growling roaring laughter ringing in my ears, was plastered into wet chest after wet chest and slapped and squeezed and hands around my throat, sick little fuck they said, sorry father, and eyes adjusted to darkwess, and teeth glinted and eyes crazy with that wetness you see in those fat, desperate men cruising the park in their german cars, or in the public loos, with the clammy hands frisking ya, father, that's what i saw in their eyes, and i knew and they knew and i prayed, and was thrown onto a dirty, gutted mattress smelling of human excrement, stains, stench, couldn't move, father i saw them fumblinbg with their shorts and whipping em out, father, and as they laughed, hoarsely, like they were mad, torrents of warm piss hit my face, eyes, nose, and, oh father, forgive me, i opened my mouth and drank it all, tasted like colour, of amber of gold, forgive me god, and they saw, and they leered, god forgive me father but i was hard, father, i touched myself, and once they ran dry, no more jeers or laughter, i was turned over, on stomach, fuck, sorry father, i'm a sinner i told you, i'm hard now, i'm sick, the boy i had a crush on, he kneeled in front of the mattress and put his hand under my chin, he had a huge cock, sorry, penis, leaking, he tipped my chin up and held it to my mouth, and oh god, father, yes, father, yes, had my shorts ripped down by hands, mmmmm, that feels fucking good father, yes, he held his big mushroomy head to my lips and i, oh fuck, father, yes, feels good, i opened my mouth and took it in, they knew father, i' was hungry for it, i'm so hungry for it, i sucked as hard as i could and behind me, a body fell on me, plastered me on the mouldy mattress and held me open, fingers poked at me, the boy i had a crush on held my head steady and ha-a-a-ammered away deep in my throat, i gagged, shit flew out my nose and mouth, oh jesus father, let me just readjust, undo this, it's a bit tricky, ohm, yea, that's hot, that's great, one of the boys fucked my ass, and i was in pain, like being torn apart inside, something wrong, and the boy i had a crush on, he hooked each index inside each corner of my mouth and pulled apart and tried to cram as much of his cock and baals inside, like now, oh yes, father, like that, but i had a small mouth back then,i was just a skinny little kid, it hurt from behind, that boy came groaning, and then another one took his place, and, oh yes, father, can you put your fingers there?, yes, inside, oh yea, fuck, it went like this, i dunno, for hours it felt, hands spreading pulling splitting my legs apart while one boy fucked in me, then another, two fingers, fathers, put two in, deep, deep inside, yes, had tow boys try to push inside me and it stretched so wide, i couldn't hold it anymore,and they got soiled and very angry, they started kicking in my ribs, balls, cock, and i was like dead, wouldn't cover myself, gave myself to the pain, three fingers, father, please, i need to be filled, i'll make it up to ya i promise, they came inside and all over me, it stang when it hit the wounds and the eyes, fuck, yes, yes, and then peed on me again, made me clean em off my own shit, you know father, i was a naughty boy, when they got tired of fucking me they looked aorund while i waited on that mattress, oozing from every pore and hole, harder, please, yes, harder now, they came back, pushed objects inside me, played with me liek they were cats and i the dead dying mouse, shoved things up there, bottles they found lying around, and the boy i had a crush on, he lit up a cigarette and puffd away while cum seeped from the corner of my mouth and then just put it out on my belly and i screamed and it sounded like, oh god, fuck, oh fuck, father, ow, i-i-i'm coming -FUCK-

...oh father, i'm sorry, forgive me, i'm so sorry, this will have to stay between us father, i know, i will not say a word father, of course, our secret, confessional privilege, thank you father, and may i have your blessing, and forgive me, and

bless me, Father, for i have sinned...

Saturday, 26 June 2010


the day after.

Army boots. Scuffed. Stains of recognizable origin on tips pale and dark.

Chain dog leash. One end, tied to radiator. Other end, loose on the floor like snake, head cut off.

Interrupted trail of redbrown leading to kitchen. Rolled into corner; yellow gas canister, bottom smeared in blood and clinging tissue.

Body shiny and naked, shuffles in. Dangling from edge of couch, soles stiff, layered with semisolid waste matter as if charred.

On the table, a cookie, picked to crumbs. Syringe, needle down into glass half-empty with red water. Crumpled pack of Marlboro Lights. Dog-eared book of poetry.

Weary back of hand brushing forehead leaving slither of reddish evidence.

deafening silence, like in the aftermath of a scream.

Friday, 25 June 2010


In our darkest hour, we stand alone, we stand muted, we stand dumb.

In our direst need, we can't beg, we can't pray, we can't be heard, we won't be seen.

(God must be the Great Voyer of the Universe. No hard feelings, Man, since Your Son was Just Another Good-Hearted Kid, an innocent led to slaughter by the world. I quake in fear for this. Which might mean i'm getting closer to the source.)

Thursday, 24 June 2010


Survivor stories. Man. You know, everyone is groaning and moaning about how bad they have it, the sex, the drugs, the complications, mommy was too oppressive and thought i was a zero anyway, daddy slapped me a couple of times and said i was a zero anyway - glares at Dogboy - kids at school laughed at me, the older kids from my football team thought i was a queer and decided to teach me a lesson - glares at Dogboy - all these fucking excuses, right, the abuse victims, the abuse stories and the fight stories and the needle stories, the hooker stories and the humiliation stories, and nobody loved me stories and the i'm-a-fighter stories, the depression stories and the cut-myself stories, the healing stories, the survivor stories - glares at Dogboy - everyone wants to fuck up and disappear into a hole or something, or so you claim - glares at Dogboy -but all i see is confession stories and redemption stories and do i look like a fucking priest to you, i'm not going to make you feel good about yourself, sweetheart, i'm tired of hearing how you got gang-banged by a few older dudes when you were the innocent little saint, momma's boy, how they cornered you on your way home from football training and dragged you to an old abandoned building where no-one heard your screams (of pleasure or of pain, slut, i wonder) and it was raining hard against the tin rooftop and brick walls, echoing, you drama queen - glares at Dogboy - i mean here you are talking about destruction and disappearance and all i see is a wannabe, someone who wants to live, who wants to survive and tries to find refugee and excuse in words, skillful words or ugly words or maybe it's just the same, it's a survivor story, trying to make people feel bad for how decrepit and what a degenerate you came to be, i bet it was not your fault, i bet there's some real touching sob story behind the person you are and the things you write about - glares at Dogboy - i bet some kind of fucked-up connection or association or shortcircuit or whatever took place when you were in a tender age, and that is why you have to keep justifying yourself and your needs and your idiosyncratic tastes constantly, and all i do is hear you wail about nihilism and destruction and then what you do, redeem yourself through what you call art, well, it's only half-arsed wishful thinking my love, you think you can recreate all the shit that's been done and being done into something beautiful, poetic, hopeful, romantic even, you think that half-witted rambling is some kind of art or absolution - gla-a-a-ares at Dogboy - you think words will save the world, you think words will save you, there's nothing but flesh, disintegrating flesh, the reality of the body, decomposing chemistry, pain, pain is the only reality, you can only disappear through pain, and don't you try to hang on to the bullshit about the beauty of life, i'm not saying kill yourself, i'm saying have the guts to make yourself disappear completely and be happy that failure and incompetence are inherent to you, be happy that you're not able to deceive your self with nice, poignant prose - sneers at Dogboy - like, really, anything but your fleshy wounds and your dying body is fake, you're a total fake, and people will see straight through your fakeness - glares at Dogboy - unless they're as retarded as you are, in which case the world is a fucked-up, retarted, ugly fucking hell and i'm glad i got off.

Glares at Dogboy.

Wednesday, 23 June 2010


you will see through me
you will see through me
you will see through me

and you saw through me.
Do you see me now?

04 school one day they asked us what do we want to be when we grow up and when my turn came i blushed and mumbled "i dunno", even though i did, i did know, i still do, come on, lean closer, let me whisper to you, i don't know why it is, why it was, but i don't think no kid these days wants to be a doctor or a lawyer or a school teacher or a vet or a golden boy or a CEO anymore, I don't think so, I never did, my ambition was to have my ass sold out on the street, as cheap as it could get, being pushed against dark damp brick wall, into dark recesses of the night, raped in back seats of cars parked into the wilderness, i don't know, where nobody would hear my screams if i screamed, having it pounded and pasted and drilled and hammered and raped bloody, especially I fantasized about a member of my family selling my eight-nine-ten year-old ass, an uncle, or a dad, or my mom, I would go to bed with my uncle and dad of the story, but never would i want to get near my mom,

and when i met her boyfriends i wanted to seduce them, since she couldn't be loyal to my dad i would not be loyal to her, so i ruined myself, steadily, methodically, so, if they were drunk and she was out, and sis was out too, and it was just us guys, i'd try and lure them, and

one boyfriend would pat my knee, in a friendly, paternal way, then move up the leg cautiously, thigh then, pat-pat-pat, the look in his eyes absent-minded as if he wasn't paying any real attention at all at what his hand was doing, and at the same time looked sheepishly at me, observing whatever shifts of my face, signs of discomfort, embarassment or eagerness maybe, but there was nothing there, i kept my face as blank as i could, and pat-pat-pat he felt me up, closely watching beneath vegetative facade, "want a beer?", "want a ciggie?", I'd sprawl on the sofa, teenage nonchalance at its best, legs spread open and smoke escaping slack mouth, eyes on TV screen, I wasn't paying notice until boyfriend's face nuzzled my crotch,

was I then a bad son, but look, I kinda took care of her, those assholes are not into you, mum, they're after your money or your son's cock, which is worse, I'm not trying to be bitter, but does the boyfriend ever eat you out with those dazed closed eyelids and jaw moving in relish, stubble coming out all wet and shiny like morning dew, lust making him look like a retard,

and one boyfriend had me sitting on his lap, and I felt him harden against small of back, and i traced that ridge with my palm and it swelled up, filled my hand, i squeezed harder, and keys on door, i was shoved at the side of the couch, thrown like a rug, and saw his eyes refocus and he wouldn't touch or come near my mom, at night he came at my bed and i pretended i was asleep, in my head i wanted to force him to take advantage of me, crawl in my bed and turn me over and pull down my pjs and boxers and sli-i-i-de it all the way in,

am i a bad son, am i a terrible person, i guess i am, because he never came, not that one, anyway, and then my attention shifted to my friends and did i know where i was getting at,

but it doesn't really matter, some people think it's dirty and maybe it is, but we're all children playing in god's playground, it's pure if it's harsh, if not marred by words or promises, by lies, by love, our bodies are machines and our hearts should be dead, for me there is no beauty or love and i want it all to be destrpoyed, i want a great disappearance

Tuesday, 22 June 2010


,wake up even though I don’t want to wake up, it’s an involuntary movement, eyes open, stuff rushing in, deluging me, half naked in my bed with only dirty boxers on, half-ashamed, half turned on, turned on by the remembrance of shame, of pain, of pleasure, I want to go back to sleep, draw the blinds, metaphorically speaking, on this goddamn theatre of pain and shame. Everything is still on me, and on my clothes, and on my breath, and I know why it all happened, why I let it happen, it’s the hole, you know, and I don’t mean my pisshole or asshole, or even mouth, eyes, nostrils, ears, so many holes to plug, kill etc. but it’s that hole, the ubiquitous hole, some call it darkness, some sin, some depression, some hate, some they call it nothing, or the emptiness they call it, the void, but I call it for what it is and it’s a fucking hole you have to fill, so much aching need to fill the hole cause it constantly eats up everything, nothing satisfies the hole, nothing fills the hole, nothing appeases the hole, no matter how much you try to feed the hole it wants more and more and it’s hungrier and hungrier, there’s nothing you can do about it if you’re unlucky to be born with a hole straight in the middle of you, some call it a pit, the pit of the stomach they say, and this is where the hole resides, where it thrives and roars, keep it coming it roars, keep it coming, it opens up and can swallow you whole and that’s when you can let yourself fall, fall deep down into the stinking aching gaping hole,

and there’s so much crazy shit you can do, you’re willing to do to shut up the hole, sometimes I wonder who’s making me do all that stuff, the answer is in the hole, maybe some creature, a demon maybe, I don’t believe in god, maybe it’s just the human condition which is insatiable, ah, the human condition, blah blah blah, don’t tell me you didn’t like it, don’t tell you didn’t have fun yesterday, don’t tell me you didn’t do it for your kicks, ah, the kicks, like literally, I can’t remember much except for the pain in my ribs, all fuzzed out in pain and pleasure and you said I have lovely veins, no, you said juicy veins, and I thought it was so romantic, and it made me laugh, you just slapped me tenderly around for a while, and whispered, “you’re a beautiful little shit, my little shit, I’m gonna teach you the meaning of pain, don’t laugh you little shit, didn’t your momma tell you it’s impolite to laugh at people’s faces?” and as you jabbed the vein all I could think was “this is so crazy, this is so crazy,” over and over again, why do we do such things, maybe it’s because we want to die, maybe because we like it, maybe because we want the pain, the pain alone can sate the hole, mute it for a while, shut it up, you can build on pain and then it’s all coming crashing down but the pain is maybe the only sensation, makes you aware of your being, makes you alive, the blood running down a love wound of teeth means you’re alive and well-loved,

the rush, then, the rush, like in the movies or in the books, a large wave of nausea you laugh “it’s nothing like the movies or the books, stoopid”, down on my knees, the not-so-white bowl splattered with Pollock bits of orange and yellow, what did I have for dinner, it’s all coming out in bursts and gushes, like an open bleeding artery of chewed up half-digested food, the human body is so dirty inside, I used to close my eyes and dream I was made of light, but only that came out was vomit, snot, shit, cum, sweat, my mouth painting the marble, my puke more creative or charismatic than I’ll ever be, can I be reduced to a sticky puking shitting convulsing orgasming pissing speechless screaming writhing reasonless mess, please, pretty fucking please?

dying animal by the side of the road, road kill, flies piling around what I’m going to be, what we all gonna be, will you come here and hold my head while I puke and gag on my own bile, not much in there anymore, it’s just muscles contracting, involuntarily, will you perhaps stroke my hair away from my forehead so I can see better, or bring me a glass of cold water;

you, so full of tenderness, kneel by my side, a hand snaking down my pants, waistband revealing, riding low on buttocks, you see something you like? spasm spasm gag gagging your hand eases into my crack, shove the jeans down, around knees, a puddle of denim, my knees hurt, they’re hurting the floor, I can see a tiny fleck of brown plastered and dried in a niche of the toilet, when I breathe the marble bowl, the water, they reflect my breath, they echo my face, I’m scared of my reflection and all I wanna do right now is just stretch my tongue out and lick that fleck of dried brown clean, I wanna clean your ejaculations and excrements and anything that has come out of you and has somehow lingered, while you finger my asshole, my fingers clutch the rim, it’s cool on my face, in here, I can’t hear what I’m thinking, the pad of finger circles the ring of muscle, “and it burns burns burns the ring of fire” ha ha,
the pad of finger tries to peel the resistance away, come on, push inside, first the tip, fingernail scrapes flesh, I open up as much as knot of fabric allows, up to the first knuckle and all I keep thinking, it’s crazy, it’s so fucking crazy, breath hitching or something, more, more, MORE, finger slides inside, who would’ve thought the skin could be so clingy, so defiant, the inner organs, a map, an uncharted area of sticky or glistening slopes, all red and hot with body temperature, curlicues of intestine, man, it must be a wild ride in there, finger glides in then out, then much easier in, anus expanding, some pain from friction and abrasion, pleasure too, take it out, hear you slurp around your fingers getting them wet and back in, two fingers, and you don’t pace yourself, feel your body engulfing me somehow, you’re like a mountain and I’m the lake or tree in its shadow, I feel your body heat coming to me through our tees sticking on back and chest with sweat, fingers fuck, deep deep deep, push push pull, fast pounding hard rhythm, your breath against my ear, your smell surrounding me, and then

empty; cold; trembling; on the floor; tiles marked with grease, “now I can fuck you forever”, fingers grasp and twist sweaty matted hair, “or till it all wears out”, I’m flicked on floor, now jeans around ankles, palms on ass cheeks, spreading them open, cold air like a razor across the inflamed sphincter, cold razor against hot skin, the cut is cold and then warms up, flick the razor, make blood appear, I can’t see your work of art but I can feel the trickles on both sides of my ass, the wounds sting and aroused by sour breath, blood pours in crack, a glance over my shoulder, engorged cock in hand, so hard it pierces right in, grateful ass gives in and widens in agony and bliss, squishy sounds as blood brims and oozes up around the girth of your cock;

that was just the beginning. We fucked all night, I wouldn’t let an inch of me without having you, still blood and your cum swimming in my belly or somewhere, thighs sticky, your taste in my mouth where your cock fucked me so hard the palate has blood, my lips swollen, the tips reddened and sore almost split, ass lacerated, on the inside and on the outside, the blood from the scars (“don’t worry, they’re superficial“) clinging to stiff underwear, headache pumping in my veins and temples, the hole needs more, hard-on again, painful to touch, I remember your teeth around it, you touched and licked and tugged and bit, ouch fuck, I have to come, need something up my ass, plug the good ol’ hole, room stuffy, the smell on my body is our smells mixed together, heady, heavy, cigarette smoke too, a pinprick on the inside of elbow, my skin and pores ejaculate odours of dried cum and sour sweet alcohol, something in my ass, please, fill the hole, you know, a quick survey of darkening room,

imagine I’m raped with the handle of a broom, or something, a truncheon, with the thick end of a bottle, I don’t care, I need sustenance, I need fulfilment, I need to be safe, mouth safely secured around big cock, ass crammed with one or two more, locked between bodies that nurture me with their hard-ons and jism, shoot a couple of rosy threads up my chest, gather it with fingers that smell of blue cheese, lick them, get up with wobbly knees, bruised knees, take a couple of vics, something for the headache and stomach medicine, throw a NIN tee on, my legs scratched as if I’ve been in a fight, the inner thighs have teeth marks and hand prints, the skin is such a wonderful, rich landscape, you know, go pee, strange colour odour, strange pain of something having been shoved down urethra, excites me, I could stay in bed all day wanking, I wanna wank all day which must mean I’m kinda depressed, I want to come and come until it hurts to come and then I want to come some more, and I want to spread my cum all over the walls, posters, books, t-shirts, you know, it keeps it down, the voices down, drowns it, the orgasm, the aching muscles, and when I take a dump it’s fucking painful and smelly as something crawled up my ass and hid and died, my haemorrhoids are bleeding on the toilet paper, it’s like I have my period, I poke them around, little fleshy lumps, try to push them back in and there’s blood under my fingernails, and it smells like sweaty shit and dead cheese, and my bowels, bruised, tangled, with guilt and dismay and grazed or shoved out of place by your huge fucking cock, driblets of blood everywhere inside, dead tissue, internal scars, internal abrasion, oh yes, fuck, I’d get another erection if she

didn’t call out to me and asked me what I’m doing, I flash cold water against my ass, wondering if he could feed my ass with the showerhead, there’s also a pimple on my ass just above a shallow cut and I pop it and come out without washing up and go to the kitchen with the fresh juice and smell of eggs and blaring morning TV and her face, wondering, looking with idiotic consternation and doing her mommy talk, “where have you been last night?” and I lie about being at my friend’s “and why did you come home at four in the morning?” and I mumble some half-arsed excuse about his parents having a fight so I left, and she’s looking at me like she wants really bad to believe me, and says okay, and I shy away because I haven’t washed myself from him and if she came close enough, imagine if she bent forward to kiss me on the cheek, she’d have a nasty surprise, I can just picture her cringe when the smell of his cum and ass and cockballs wafts from my breath to her face,

Sunday, 13 June 2010


When we first met, he said he'd take me home. We sat in the car in the dark and i watched him smoke. There were songs playing softly on the radio. They made me want to swim naked in a moon-drenched sea. His eyes were dark and shielded. He put his hand on my thigh and rubbed up and down. He unzipped my jeans and shoved his hand in my boxers. I held my breath. He asked something and i lied. He wanked me. It was better because if we talked instead of doing this i wouldn't know what to say. Silence makes me uneasy, and people shut down when i don't speak. I came in his hand. He withdrew it. I sighed inwardly, it was over, that was it. He brought his fingers to my mouth. He said, "open up". I opened up. I licked my cum of his sticky fingers. They tasted of salt and dust and a tinge of metal, perhaps from the guitar. My cum tasted like my cum. He kissed me, then he took me home. I still didn't know what to say, so I just hummed along to the music. He asked me again. I lied again. We said goodnight, and I waved through the window. I still couldn't see his eyes. Like in the movies, something was deliberately hiding them.


My body is a crime scene. my body is your crime scene. My body hides vital evidence that no one cares to collect. My body is a packet of clues nobody wants to read. It’s a bad, cheap novel. It’s cracked pages and yellowed lettering. My body is a forest fire. My body is gasoline and smoke. My body is the burning cigarette tossed out of a car. It runs at a thousand feet per second. My body is the tossed corpse, wrists tied behind back, dislocated shoulders and skid marks on skin. I am the skin. I am the dead. I am the road. I am the rope used to subdue me. My body is a glowing trajectory, at night, a golden bow, before I crash against the highway. Before you snuff me out with your boot, my body is a match. It sets fire. My body is a murder case written in cigarette burns. My body is treasure chest of guilt and shame. My body is a present to you, wrapped in ribbons of blood and a huge bow on top. My body is a ticking bomb. I’m tired of the itch. I’m about to explode. Tick. Tock. My body is a song. It’s a scream. That tells you it’s all over. I can’t handle the itch, it’s coming. I want to I want to. There are no words. They are too big for my mouth. Mouth made to suck you off. They are rocks weighing me down in the river. In the sea. My body is used up. I don’t know if you ever loved me, maybe in your way you did because god works in mysterious ways. I’m sick of this. I’m broken. They broke me. You broke me. I think I take too many drugs and I think it’s because they broke me. He put me in his mouth and his jaw crushed me like a cherry. Juice ran down his chin. I don’t remember who I am this is why i try to forget and never try to remember. When I was in elementary school, my teacher, she told me I was good with words. I believed her. Now I have nails under my tongue. I have razors under my veins. I cut everyone up.


just checking.