Mattress sale on the corner of Nostalgia and Fourth Street

 
My ass was a
garden of violets,  
purple blooms,  
as your cane taught me that  
bad fucking girls  
get  
bad
fucking  
men  
 
And I wanted a bad. fucking. man.  
 
I was an angel in black lace,  
all crazed youth-filled passion  
and lack of awareness,  
and you fucking  
loved the way  
I'd make you bleed
just to get close enough to  
t a s t e  
the little  
hollow at the  
base of my throat
 
you loved the way I'd  
crawl in your lap  
like a petulant child  
and beg for you  
to make it better;  
plucking the buttons  
of your shirt  
in a kink version  
of Lolita
 
before slapping  
the shit out of you  
so that you'd  
worship me  
in pain.  
 
My pain.  
 
You loved
my cat's claws  
and my need to  
rip you apart  
as you tore  
my boundaries
and tamed that  
uninhibited rage
so that it tasted less like bile  
and more like  
s e x.  
 
And I can taste the  
dirty mattress  
I screamed into  
as you shoved  
it in my ass  
while junkies sneered  
at our bleeding  
backs  
 
And I can feel your  
dick against my stomach  
as you climbed into my panties  
while I was still in them,  
and ripped the shit out of  
the lacy parts.  
and the god-awful ecstasy  
of you fucking me  
with an underwear  
condom  
 
And the way we fucked  
to the alphabet song  
and counted months  
like we were movies stars,  
and the way you liked  
me to dress in a suit with  
jangly bracelets before  
you'd subjegate my  
power-bitch attitude  
still filters through  
my mind  
 
like a missed breath underwater,  
 
mostly  
when I'm  
flogging my clit
 
Every lover since  
has felt your  
indentation  
on the  
dirty mattress
I still lie on.  
 
Because you loved the way i ...  
but I loved ...