"...Seeking a Softer Nothing. w4m, 28. Seattle, downtown"

Snatch me from sleepless tumble.
Shake and distract me.
Notice me.
Slaughter me or save me.

Catch the dead in me,
All the real left in me.
Touch but don't feel.
Taste but don't swallow.
Smell me and think of dust.

Push inside me.
Crush me with that wild indifference,
That only men produce.
That only a man could mistake for love.

Forget me or use me.

Make me again.
Make me something else.
Some other girl in,
Some other story.

Whisper her name.
Dress me in her forgotten things.
Cut the parts of me away,
Lose me somewhere.

Orphan me and seduce me.

Spare only your laziest lies.
Undress me without a kiss.
Caress me dry and saltless,
Kindless and cold.

Trespass upon this strange inheritance.
Where warheads bloomed one day,
Upon a frightened child.
My tits and ass.
My open mouth, silenced.

My cunt bared to you,
Bare for you.
My object d'art.
My Plan A and B.
I didn't make them.
They are making me.

They are the least of me.
They are the worst of me.
They are all you see,
Smell and taste of me.

Blame me.

You grope, you claw,
Passed clothes you won't see.
You pull and grasp,
At each salmon-flecked flash.
You lick, spit and bite at
My softest of surpluss.

Hurt me carelessly,
And mistake my swelling breathes,
For adoration or desire.
Hurt me faster and harder for it.

Listen but hear only that rush,
Of enraged blood pumping.
Smother me in sloppy arousal.
Suck the salt from my skin,
And coax from me perfumed approval.

My incense of rape and consent,
Smell the same.
My betrayal and deceit.
My shame.
Make me yield now.
Make me helpless.

Once again blameless.

Make me cry if you can.
Just make me something.

Turn on baby.
Soul-fuck me.
My perfect machine.
Dumb fucking machine.

You have only one reason.

To Lend me some purpose.
Convince me at least.
Tell me more lies.
Spill and splash and,
Spit and Grind then.

Make me wet with them.

Turn on baby.
Soul-fuck me.
Displace me.
Replace me.
Bare me out on the backs of my tears.

Fill me with a softer nothing.

Turn on now, baby.
Soul-Fucker!
My Perfect fuck machine.
Lost before me and,
Lost again inside me.

We are a tangled disenchantment,
Sightless and choiceless in it.
Blinded and pumping through it.
Assaulting deeply and,
Completely,

Replacing me.

Renew my lingering sorrows.
Remind me I'm lonely.
Teach me that prayer about Angels,
Just touch me please.

Tell me that last little lie.
Waste one more breath on me.
Waste yourself upon me..
On my tits and ass.
Make me swallow your pride.

Fill me with your softer nothing.

Waste yourself away and
Sleep between chemical-bursts.
Dream the things of men;
Of things that make you,
Meaningless now.

Reasonless except for me.

So Turn on again, baby.
And tell me I'm pretty.

My perfect fuck-machine.
My foolproof distraction.
My relentless mistake.
My anesthesia and,
My sweetest hate.
My greatest excuse,
Let me fail forever.

Just call me please.

11th Rewrite