Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Prose from Now

You want me here, as a pet. As a ragdoll. You do not notice I contain no love for you. That I have been emptied. You hold my arms up, impel me to act the part, with no heart.

No matter. Your mind vaults over my matters; if you can get me to stay, to be your warmth, your pet, your love, then you are proven faultless. A victor over cruel reality. The hero wins the love of the princess, hidden in her pauper's garb.

The possession of a fair and smiling slave proves the Master's worth,
    even as she shudders under the pull of her iron shackles, and turns to spit, vomiting her au gratis meal,
                                                revealed to be sand.

A rabbit in a snare baited by need; I cry at your feet, at the hopeless entanglement of your infant's love.











image: "Trapped" by Sybille Sterk

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