Sunday, 18 November 2012

This Whore Eats

Glossy wrapped chocolate box
Smooth and sliding to the touch
The ribbon of violet silk loosely tied, watches as
A movie star whore slips off her bra and takes her nipple tight between her fingers.

The box is silent and still.
It is knowing --- it is ever present.
It is dominant to the whore who is




The box’s jaw tightens
A low laugh escapes the whore and reaches into eternity.

The whore comes close to the box and
Her face is illuminated.
Her features are inverted and withered
Her eyes stream

     And she smiles so gay.
     She is maddening
          Constricting joyful
          Contorting joy

She reaches out her hand to touch the ribbon
Her body quivering

          Forceful anticipation

Her smile is wide and gaping
Her face streams where her eyes should be.

As the gap between her finger and the ribbon closes
Ribbon begins to vibrate like its lungs were being filled with liquid metal
          Liquid gold
The organic becomes one with the contrived
The boundaries are blurred
E  R  A  D  I  C  A  T  E

For a moment it looks as if the ribbon is undoing itself
Then it is unveiled with a hard clunk
It is not a ribbon but a chain

A thick black chain weighs heavy on the box
The whore takes the ends of the chain tightly in her hands and she

Pulls gleefully
She pulls as she has done before
Pulls frantically

A frantic maniacal scream fills the air

The box is open.

The chains are broken and cast across the room
As they fly through the air they lash the whores skin
She whips her head back like a dog to see the bleeding wound on her shoulder

Her teeth grey in the light separate and her tongue fills the gaps
Her tongue a great fatty pustule incapable of elegance writhes and
Burrows into the roof of her mouth trying to escape the world.

Her wounds soon lose their sting
All feeling flees this body
This carcase.

Now her hands reach to the box.

Inside the box

There are an infinite number of treats.
Each one more elaborate more more more more more more more

And each one more silent than the next,
And each one watches the whore intently
They see her crooked body
They see her frail hands
They see the place where her soul once was or at least should have been.
They see her spread legs and her closed mind.
They see her burning desire
They look around her room and they see the many rich trinkets she has amassed
     Each trinket scurries to the back of the room
     They feel the eyes of the contents of the box
     They feel that stare
     They feel inadequate in the presence of such treats.
They see her ignorance
They hear not a laugh but a cry.
They smile.
They fucking smile.

This circle will complete.

She grabs at the box at the treats not caring which one she consumes first
They are light in her hands and as they touch her mouth they melt like silken chocolate and seem to soothe her tongue

   For a moment,
      less than a second

she feels great rest, great ease, her muscles relax and  she almost chokes and tears stream from her face and fill her mouth and wet her skin she is drenched in tears and she does not know this feeling like joy like despair like eternal loneliness like freedom like a tiny cell like enlightenment like the closing of all the doors.

For Less than a second

Each second since then and each second which will tick on every clock into the future forever
     more she feels nothing. 
She is undead. She has not questions nor answers. Her belly rumbles a long journey into the night and into the day and back to the night.

This circle completes.


This circle completes.


This circle completes.