R a b b i t h o l e

   
   
   
     
‘Is it true that sex can be a viable emotional therapy?’                                                                                          
   
   
                              -Journal entry- 17-06-03      
     
     
Another day      
 
Dreary-drab-desperate      
the indifferent sun burns overhead      
     
I get out from my shower      
get dressed-comb my hair      
take a walk around      
stalk-stroll-sit-sleepwalk      
     
I unlock my door and enter      
while the neighbor gets out      
from the rusted elevator      
and mumbles      
s o m e t h i n g      
     
     
     
[font=Trebuchet MS]Yesterday she fought with her husband      
they swore-threw plates and fell silent      
and they fucked the life out of each other      
     
And then that was it.      
     
Like any other day      
     
Tooth and nail      
     
Flab-wrinkles-lube      
     
They played 'Deep Throat'      
as they fucked      
without even knowing that      
       
it was the most profitable      
indie venture-ever-that skin flick      
     
May be the romp ended      
when the loser fancied      
her rump      
for there was a muffled yelp      
     
(An upturned Heath Ledger      
dangling mid-air, comical      
with warpaint-in a cheap suit      
said something-important      
at that definite moment      
on cable-with the mute button      
f l a s h i n g)      
     
I tried harder      
to listen      
     
And then they started      
They just shook, stoic      
till everything was      
flaccid-placid      
     
Afterwards they      
     
smoked      
coughed      
snored      
     
Her apnea was broadcasted      
all night thru the thin membrane      
of a wall      
a hymen held by cheap mesh      
of metal      
     
like most of the nights      
     
     
     
     
As I shut the door of my apartment      
I glimpse at her breasts      
behind the black tee      
which reads 'Active Sport'      
     
Her b r e a s t s      
     
They dangle      
uninspired-dejected-sapped      
nearly vestigial      
in need of a lift      

Gravity vs Tissue.1-0.      
     
I replay the noises from last night      
my fingers clutch my shaft      
they slide-glide as I hide      
cowering neath the mirror      
finally I grunt and climax      
     
It’s not much-big deal.      
     
     
I take another shower-longer this time      
and walk naked from room to room      
drinking some hot chocolate      
     
Later on I make myself      
a scrambled omelette.      
     
I chew on it till my throat is parched      
and I realize there is no water to drink      
I take a swig of rum      
     
It seethes my innards      
something chokes my gonads      
     
I ignore everything.1-0.      
     
I try to get some sleep      
I shut my eyes      
they twitch and ejaculate      
tears and they scald my cheeks      
     
I wish they were viscous      
these-damned-tear-drops      
     
and my hands find my zipper.      
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