Exploration J.
Self-induced pap smear in bathroom mirror. I am no more fetus than I am skeleton and silver spoon. Humble beginnings. Love affairs with boys with J names. There are too many to list, none even worth naming.
I am the wire hanger. I am the pro-choice slag bitch cunt whore bleeding over you. Prick my finger so we become blood brothers. No others will do. Curse my name carved in your chest beating. A moaning slut in heat begging you to take him from behind. Your little bro/big bro fantasy scenario. The things you don’t think I know.
Infinity blade, wrist-cutting the holidays from my stomach. I was belched out of the sewer to uncover the others. Slack-jawed and panic attacks. Keeping sweaty palms and palm fronds from meeting. The ultimate goal of frot. Two crotches both alike in dignity, in fair Pacoima where we lay our scene.
Self-induced labor, sweating it out to the oldies. The oldest hymn of 1986. I am mustard gas and DNA and mononucleosis. Your saliva still on my most private areas where I go to get off. Self-induced, self-incubated selfish pity fuck.
