Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Roach Motel Abdomen.

That's what you said in too many words. Whispered into amplifiers or mouthed in front of hundreds of lip readers, who breathe from that silent, moving hole.
I suppose i am.
After all, the head-dress and ball gown i thought said it all covered zombified interiors and half malfunctioning machinery, damaged goods i was too loving (or "pathetic") to mention.
That's all been exposed to recently stripped eyes, every stich rotting thread by thread. With one word i was naked. With that same word you were skinned, sliced open from crotch to neck.
A roach motel abdomen, evicted and quarantined.
What a mouth filled with pity can do.


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