257 – The Circles of My Hell

“In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within dark woods where the straight way was lost.” ― Dante Alighieri, Inferno  

“The path to paradise begins in hell.” ― Dante Alighieri

257 is a number not much to you

the circles they represent

drive the knife straight through

2 is Lust with its desire and evil licks

a graveyard cold encounter

killers touch of a feigned kiss

5 is anger and you know of nights

lovers wrestle their pain

angry sex and lust fueled fights

7 is a violent end of the two

bringing an end to the battle

blood stained hands all over you

It’s My Turn

 “Harry was left to ponder in silence the depths to which girls would sink to get revenge.” ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Split right along the thigh, a filigree stockings showed signs of abuse and my knees, a little bruised, were hidden a bit by the dark color of the fabric. I just finished a hard night, and everything in me hurt. By now I knew how to hide my mind and the fragile assembly of my soul from the harsh violence. The patrons demanded so much shame. “If I was a cyborg, a fleshy hole without a heart, they would be happy.” Perhaps that’s why I had the demand of so many, they loved violating not just my body, but my heart. My list was long and extensive, not that it included the famous, but the notorious. I fantasized long ago about bringing my skills to bear on those who had power over me. The slaps, the tortures, the drugs held at bay while I crawled for one hit. They made me lick, beg, and fuck for every little advantage. I was good at it now, the numbness helped me give all to the beck and call of these silly men. “Fuck this shit, it started when I was 5. My tits and ass have continued to call men from their holy sanctuaries to find their sin in my pure little body”. Now it was my turn.

I knelt, and looked at him, taking him in my mouth, like I was taught by my many black eyes and gasping breaths. My mind and life is a filthy list of commands and forced obedience. I’m hold the chains of your mind mister. While he held my hair, pulling it in his desire and forcing himself in my mouth, I reached down and slipped the Exacto knife from my boot. I took him deep and he smacked me hard, which thing I loved by now, it gave me energy, yes the rush to take my knife and shove it deep in his ass. His mouth dropped in agony, which looked to me just like an orgasm. I twisted the razor blade in his ass a couple times and then plunged it in his neck and hands. I took a lot of time to cut his fingers loose, disfiguring those hands which near choked me with his selfish desire,  setting them in a loose “fuck you” sign that none would mistake. “This was done by a whore, a bitch disfigured by lust and men. Yes, I did this, so fuck me hard, in the end I’ll splatter your whole life on the front page and your embarrassment will be more than the blood shed by my hate filled spree of revenge”. 

Cleft Derision

“…independent and brave, and sure of himself and of the importance of his work, because if he isn’t he will never survive the scorching blasts of derision that will probably greet his first efforts.”

derision preemption – a life-style tactic; the refusal to go out on any sort of emotional limb so as to avoid mockery from peers.”- 

Sorrow is better than laughter, she whispered

Sharpening the knife of her concupiscence

Drawing a razor’s edge across the wrist of commitment

Tears define your purpose and cleanse your soul, she mumbled

Hacking at the cords of her errant desire

Carving the yearning arms of safety and family

Cries hone the instincts and rebuke complacency, she sang

Slicing through passion with words of dark rejection

Cutting with lust and splittinghearts asunder in cleft derision


Snuff of Innocence

“… you don’t have to wait for someone to treat you bad repeatedly. All it takes is once, and if they get away with it that once, if they know they can treat you like that, then it sets the pattern for the future.” Jane Green, Bookends

With the subtly of snakes, he creeps through the grass

Lust on his mind, his tongue tasting the innocence

Peeling the soul away leaving his dying life behind

Pushing his severity on one left alone

Fear is the knife held to a young neck

Forcing a change, cracking the tender mind

Raising to her feet, looking through the shock

A numbness begins, heaven’s after thought to this evil

Vigilance now a trance to see the blurred face of the enemy

Shadows take shape, forever they will chase

Hiding, pulling the dark around like a quilt

This soul will do more than agonize over dead matters

Lay down now you thirsty demon

Shaking herself the young woman becomes a nightmare

Also published in Broowaha 

Trickbag – Setting me up

“Men are so simple and yield so readily to the desires of the moment that he who will trick will always find another who will suffer to be tricked.” – Niccolo Machiavelli 

Thinking you would catch me in a *trickbag of a players game

Pushed to limits of civil thought, left with a criminal’s way

Laughing thinking that never the gun would flash and knife bleed

Lay down the weapons of flesh for the attack that brings to seed

A falcon’s wings now serve me better than a dragons breath

These three ends you chose for me: jails, institutions, and death

Homicidal fantasies I would loath to create a reality

I shun the sad you see I can never be your patsy

Flying high above the fray, killers killing each other to despise

I gather rising winds of peace beneath my tattered wings to rise

They almost had me, looking for a vulnerable spot with hate

Finding my weakness, a harbinger of danger to reveal my strength

They came against me as one, now they run in divided derision

I enjoy the meal now, prepared in the presence of their incursion

Freedom is mine once again, in spite of me, in spite of them

Caught away by spirits leading, the world of success my diadem

*trick bag – setting someone up to do things they would normally never do using peer pressure, elicit substances, alcohol, women, or whatever means to manipulate.

Imposter – Revenge is not mine

“Everything I want to hear, or afraid to
Spoken with sweetness, I’m lied to
Clothed in harlot’s dresses, draw me close
Words sweet in duress, imposter I chose
Winking with sultry eyes, words conceal
My ruin never to come, imposter revealed”



Sitting right next to me, I know what you just said. How can you just smile at me? What hardness must come over your heart to slide the knife of hatred and slander through my ribs, pushing deeper with every traitorous word? Taking joy in my pain, clapping your hands in my suffering, slow yourself down. Today it is my lot to take on these trials, but soon, my Judas, the dish of pain will be yours to savor. Your punishment will be sure as the rising of the sun; and gradual though it may be, the full heat of the day will bear on your life, burning the flesh of your cowardly soul. Joy is not mine, as it was yours, to see suffering, I wish for you to learn the error of your wayward tongue. Perhaps you will grow, or perhaps you will perish; karma has you pinned down now and soon you will see, with vivid detail, the writhing of a suffering a soul, for it will be yours only to bear that heavy load.

Curved Intentions – Becoming your feast

“Do not imagine that the good you intend will balance the evil you perform” 
Curved intentions, raking my back, I’m caught

Tearing my skin I pull away taught

Faithful I lay awake in pretend

Hoping quickly my life will end

Hungry breath and obsessed eyes

Biting through my gentleness you despise

Quivering, shaking the cold of afterlife

My soul separated by desire’s knife