The Sirens

Empty belly for an aching heart.
My head aches as I remain
Cradled in a swaddle of
Unwashed blankets and twice worn clothes.
Beside me, the weight of a body
Pale arm thrown across my back,
Yet I am disconnected.
Disorientated.
Devestated.
For each heartbeat a headache to follow.
No sweet dreams, no dreamless sleep
Weaving the concious and unconciousness,
My mind flooded with unwelcome images
Of spread legs
Swollen breasts
Crimson cunts
Half-awake, seductive grins.
Pale. Pale. Skin.
Their pale skin.
The sirens
With their youthful bodies that
Scream for sex.
Scream for a rhythmic tug.
Scream for the spillage of seed
All over the hands of a enraptured boy.
My enraptured boy.
My boy, who I thought would never look
At anyone else.
And as these sirens flash through my memory
Yet again.
I feel the familiar sensation of a curdled stomach
A dull, empty ache
Like someone gently, kindly numbed me
Before removing whatever they could find inside.
This will leave a mark.
This will have to fade.
This will need some time.
Why this emptiness, why this reaction
Is unknown and yet bitterly acknowledged.
I cannot stand that your mind has wandered.
I cannot stand that your hand has strayed.
I cannot stand that you would look anywhere else,
For the fear that I haven't given enough
Or that you would spend your desires
On bodies that are not mind.
Bodies that are anonymous,
Save for the smiles
Of the girls to which they belong.