Poetry

Poetry

Alone.
You feel pleasant. Pleasantly strange. Foreign, in all the imaginable ways, Isolation and regret Lace your fingertips. You tell me you like me like this. Alone.     You like, alone. You like to have me, to yourself. How lucky I am. How fortune, I am. To have someone like you.     ii. I like you. The forest of you. The danger you entail. It smells, Familiar. Childish giggles stich my lips together. Closed, frames create fences. You prevail. Climbing over me with your broad claws, Ripping my form. I have nothing left.     You ignore me.     I like it rough.   Fight more.   I am in submission. Obey.     It’s a game.   Winner takes all. I am used to this call. I thought she was different. I thought she could see, I wanted it to be her and me.   I bow to her will, Fear used, Like a wheel. Rolling me into     Weak.     I kiss her flesh. Her meat is a smell, not a taste. It reminds me of early days. When I still sulked on her tit, Feeding her mould. She bends my bones, She stands alone, I know she is afraid, To afraid to say, She knows no other game. Except pain.       Photography by Ari Richter
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