Eat My Flaws Like They're Putrid Delicacies
You are the fly of my body-
munching and crunching away at the dusty
must within my folds.
The dirt and grime in my crevices
cakes like old cum
on the edges of a cobweb-covered
vagina.
I am the main course
handed to you on a silver garbage lid;
Your molding dinner
is my rotten-apple core, protruding
from my heaving chest
like intestines
painted six shades of patina
and insecurity.
(I'm weak with [your] sickness).
Trying to make yourself a man,
you peel skin from my body,
shedding my deadly sins-
lively apple peelings
strewn about the floor recklessly.
I cater to your feverish gluttony
by just not moving.
I've never felt such cracked lips like
the ones searching
for lost seeds across your dinner plate.
There's nothing left of me
to devour,
but you lick the platter clean.
While I become transparent
you grow plump, swollen
like a lump of lard-
hard blubber against my fingers.
(You are the cleansing agent in me),
only lingering in my heart
to digest and rest your weary teeth
in a vampire's feast of my
dreary mood.
Even if your eyes could see the true colors
of hope in a new sunrise-
shades of maturity and knowledge
bounding over the horizon-
it would be in vain.
Children are ignorant
of the subtle differences between
dead (and browning) apple peelings,
lying peacefully beneath last week's
spoiled milk.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 18