Landfill Heart
un-
The glassy eyes roll back like an upset doll. Blonde hair, ratty scraggy uninteresting tumbles down on my chest, straw out of the Scarecrow. A painted face, untouchable unreasonable. Geisha lips, gothic eyes, incontinently embarrassed cheeks, aflame in their individual grease. The lips leave a trail of ringworm marks on my neck, touch unappetizing, wish she would leave me alone.
Money on the nightstand, let it be.
I have no interest in her. She unleashes the breasts and I stare at them absent-mindedly, a schoolboy staring from a window, taking in nothing but only staring since it is mildly more interesting than long division.
A braver, courser man would have fucked her hard, uncaring to her feelings, enjoying the doll like appearance. A better man would have reasoned with her, still fucking her but making it alright in his head. A more polemic man would talk to her about God and give her a cleaning job to pay her way through college/her kids/her debt delete as appropriate.
I am none of those things. All I wish is to push her away and to let her disappear, shadows carving into her flesh like butchers, bleeding darkness with every cut until she is forgotten and I can forget too.
But it is true ambivalence that lets me lie here unmoving.
And in my vain attempts of taking my mind off of the hunks of flesh pulsating against my own, I wonder which of us is the doll.
Money on the nightstand, let it be.
I have no interest in her. She unleashes the breasts and I stare at them absent-mindedly, a schoolboy staring from a window, taking in nothing but only staring since it is mildly more interesting than long division.
A braver, courser man would have fucked her hard, uncaring to her feelings, enjoying the doll like appearance. A better man would have reasoned with her, still fucking her but making it alright in his head. A more polemic man would talk to her about God and give her a cleaning job to pay her way through college/her kids/her debt delete as appropriate.
I am none of those things. All I wish is to push her away and to let her disappear, shadows carving into her flesh like butchers, bleeding darkness with every cut until she is forgotten and I can forget too.
But it is true ambivalence that lets me lie here unmoving.
And in my vain attempts of taking my mind off of the hunks of flesh pulsating against my own, I wonder which of us is the doll.