the pulsing warehouse

Forgive the
twisting DJ
that had my feet on strings

forgive the whore
that sold me bad acid

and forgive me
who straddled
and toyed with
the man from Chicago
as he whispered
of alluring positions
and my beautiful smile

and i bled
for the night
within the circus black
cement walls
i bled between the
molten molested bodies
of pupated dancers
bled for the night
trapped amongst my
own self
throwing my velvet
blacken skin
onto
sooty vintage couches
opening my legs
so he could taste a wound
that wont heal

but we ran from that
old black warehouse
with it's fire hula hopper's
and fruit fingering men
and tacky tequila

and we saw the raw
paper light of morning
and let our soles
beat the pavement
and screamed
as rain
fucked our skin

and somehow
freedom
came with
that slapping new
daylight
and it promised
a chance to heal
all wounds

<3


hey this is a happy poem
and one man helps me
see things
with hope