Fucking the beast

Fucking the beast that laughs last
leaves a knee stumbled in cracks
blood that cries not of that wound
but of the little one she carries


he plays you
follows me to the bathroom
no love
no loss
but a moment of shit
where the past means as much as the broken knee with no aid

my response: I am wasted, Stop harming the little good left in me.
My heels mean nothing to you and your
manhood nothing to me

move
move on

I have thought of him while owning you.
How dare you remember a night I renounce?
You serve as the escape to his silence.

And yes you are to blame for looking twice.

You are nothing.

He is nothing,

I am tired of being a flute.

Play no more.