Carbollocks' Second Poem
Trace of lipstick gleaming
under the residual smoke,
a high heeled toe stomps it out
into my burning flesh.
Pain, I want more but
I am not worthy, my chest
does not heave with enough
passion for this fin de siècle
this age of sadomasochism.
2012, why did you ever come
and why would you ever leave,
tossing the lackluster dolls
of our imagination aside
for a greener Myers-Briggs?
Psychosis is, as psychosis does
few would despair
of finding a mate
if it were no more obscure
than a left sock.
You crush me
With your autonomy
and I bless you
with my fraudulent obeisance.
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