by xTx
I want to write things for you. New things. For you. For you in your regular house with its regular lawn and its perpetual paint on the walls that keep the day to day in check.
Where everything for you is expected I want to be there fucking it up for you. A hole in the drywall. A gouge in the hardwood. A scab in your mind.
I want to consume your waking; a high-pitched tone, a rumble, a rape, driving you insane you’ll
mow the lawn in crosscut patterns.
kick the dog when nobody’s looking.
swear at the people you love most
I want you making secrets behind the locked
bathroom door
basement door
garage door
New things that destroy you. I want to write what I’ve never yet written. I want you to feel the words scrape your skin. I want you drowning, inverted, incapable of speech: crying.
I want your dick hard.
I want you to regret the day you begged. I want you to beg me to make it stop. I want you to regret getting what you wished for.
I want to see you broken with it.
I will write those things for you.
New things.
*www.notimetosayit.com (effme)
Showing posts with label xTx. Show all posts
Showing posts with label xTx. Show all posts
November 14, 2009
The Art of Forgetting
by xTx
It’s nice of you to drop bombs. I think.
No. Seriously. Drop them.
Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you like it.
Fucking with me.
Dropping bombs. Fuck you.
I’ve been here….
chopping wind with the dullest axe
finally
accepting the transparency of words and
how they will never,
truly,
ever,
be about me.
Let me tell you. Something.
Even the cutest puppy
shits and sheds.
Drop another bomb, asshole
I cannot keep looking into your paper eyes.
It’s nice of you to drop bombs. I think.
No. Seriously. Drop them.
Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you like it.
Fucking with me.
Dropping bombs. Fuck you.
I’ve been here….
chopping wind with the dullest axe
finally
accepting the transparency of words and
how they will never,
truly,
ever,
be about me.
Let me tell you. Something.
Even the cutest puppy
shits and sheds.
Drop another bomb, asshole
I cannot keep looking into your paper eyes.
July 26, 2009
2270
by xTx
Salty. It’s all there. So human. (In)vertebrates all. Let’s deconstruct. Each other. Your ballsack. My taint. Your beard. My left tit. Your chipped tooth. My pockmark. Overtly tangible…your lips…the heat from between your thighs. I’m aloft. Your asshole - a taste sensation. A boarded up house. A crowbar. Twenty bikers rough from the road. It’s all good baby. I have something for you. Clean sheets and. It’s a Columbine evening of tearing you apart. Lock me in your basement. Cut my hair. Scald me. Scar me. She says, “Jack off in my hair.” and he just laughs. It echoes in a place she cannot see, but she hears it somehow. It sounds like she is being mocked. It’s ‘bad form’ she thinks. She wishes he would’ve simply said, “Yes”, spit on his palm, and got to task.
Salty. It’s all there. So human. (In)vertebrates all. Let’s deconstruct. Each other. Your ballsack. My taint. Your beard. My left tit. Your chipped tooth. My pockmark. Overtly tangible…your lips…the heat from between your thighs. I’m aloft. Your asshole - a taste sensation. A boarded up house. A crowbar. Twenty bikers rough from the road. It’s all good baby. I have something for you. Clean sheets and. It’s a Columbine evening of tearing you apart. Lock me in your basement. Cut my hair. Scald me. Scar me. She says, “Jack off in my hair.” and he just laughs. It echoes in a place she cannot see, but she hears it somehow. It sounds like she is being mocked. It’s ‘bad form’ she thinks. She wishes he would’ve simply said, “Yes”, spit on his palm, and got to task.
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