number 2.
her words
were like a flamenco guitar solo
put into verse
and as I watched her talk
once again the heavens opened
the sun looked down on the two of us:
my angel and her hellion
locked in a deep conversation
too philosophical
that even the gods couldn't comprehend.
cut off.
no more dick pics
and cunt shots
she has cut me off.
she tells me I am poison
but her venom is stronger.
no more violations
and midnight molestation.
no more pleasure comes from the pain
and as I lay on the floor
breathless
I am filled with the desire
to destroy the beast that has consumed me.
she dominates.
she dominates
possesses my soul
she devoured it just last night
as I slept, dreamt.
everything is sexual
everything succumbed to a puddle of lust.
she destroys men for fun
to feed a deep hunger
and I am her next victim
willfully I fall further
into the pit
I don't feel the need to find my way out
since I know I will not succeed
so I sit silently
hoping someday she will let me walk free.
she dominates
with unbridled passion
like a drug
she crept into my veins
and as night approaches
I lay down impatiently
anticipating my next fix.
she waits.
she waits on the couch
phone in hand
sitting quietly, anticipating my call
and her body is longing to hear my voice
wishing I was there to silence her lust
to touch her
to place my hands between her sex starved thighs.
awake.
awake from your nightmare sleep
life is passing you by.
all the hangovers
the wild forgotten nights
stoned, all alone in a crowd
helps to feed your need
for seclusion.
you must break the mold
enjoy things as they were intended
to be.
this world is filled with pressures
anxiety and the need to find a chemical substitute
for loneliness, insecurity, unhappiness.
so go to a concert, a fair
any social event
observe, experience, embrace the negativity
for once in your life.
you can always start again with the drink
tomorrow.
Keith Wesley Combs
