The Panties Of The Dead

   I stopped in my tracks after spotting the blood on Sunset boulevard. The humidity was ridiculous, the sun was shining down with no remorse. I removed my shirt, and followed the trail of blood that appeared to go on forever.
About half a block up is where I found the first razor blade, covered in blood, with what appeared to be a piece of fatty tissue stuck to it.
I picked it up to see if it felt like sharing the story. Nothing happened, so I dropped it. Journalism isn’t easy.
After another block, or so, the trail of blood had directed me onto Sunnydale avenue. At this point the blood was boiling from the increase in temperature and relentless beams of sunlight.
I was hoping to find another a clue, like I was Inspector Gadget or something. I ended up walking away, empty handed.
Evidently, the injured party took a shortcut through a yard, leaving me to follow the trail of blood soaked grass that obviously wasn’t greener, with a possibility of being harassed over trespassing. This is when I picked up the pace, jumped a few fences and ended up in a beautiful cemetery.
She was all alone, sitting on a marble bench with her wrists bleeding out. The white dress she was wearing looked like it had been used for an all night shift at the butchers.
I remember thinking how much of a sin it was to let that smoking hot body go to waste. She was drop dead gorgeous without make-up, but so close to death, that touching didn’t seem relevant.
I approached her gently and said, “You mind if I sit down for a minute?”
She looked up at me with those bloodshot eyes and said, “Do what you want. The clock is ticking. My time in this boring, material world is almost through. Thank God for that.”
I sat down, sparked up a cigarette and asked if she’d like one. She took the cigarette, lit it up and said,
“Well, what do you want? Am I not allowed to die in peace?” A few drops of blood had landed on her cigarette.
“You can rest in peace,” I said. “But in the meantime, my dealer has a tendency to show up late, so I was hoping to hear your story, if you’re not too busy that is.”
“Who’s your dealer?”
I blew out a cloud of smoke and said, “Frankie Foreskin. You know him?”
“Who the fuck doesn’t know Frankie Foreskin?” she replied. “He has the best prices in Pittsburgh, and the most horrendous cock of all time. Speaking of drugs and cocks, this is pretty much what it all boils down to.”
“How so?” I asked.
“When hedonism becomes inefficient, all that’s left is the mundane. The monotony of life, the repetition of the clock. It got to the point where I became numb to pleasure.”
“Christ! That’s fucked!” I replied.
“You’re damn right it is! You better hope you never cross that path. It’s no way to live, obviously.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been getting fucked up for years now, and my orgasms are always on point. Maybe you have a rare condition.”
“Maybe,” she replied. “Not that it matters anymore. I’ve made my choice. You and the rest of them can keep on living, I’m not jealous.
“I highly doubt any new drugs are going to be on the market in the near future. There’s next to nothing to anticipate besides the inevitability of inflation.”
“Wow,” I said. “Now you’re making me depressed.”
“What the fuck did you expect, asshole! I’m fucking bleeding out over here!” She lifted her wrists to emphasize her point. Blood splattered down onto the marble bench. The stench of imminent death was in the air.
That’s when my cellphone rang. I reached in my pocket and said, “Could you excuse me for a minute?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve got all day.”
It was Frankie Foreskin. Immediately he began bitching at me for being late. (Like it’s not usually the other way around.)
I explained the circumstances, which intrigued Frankie very much. He wanted to know her name, thinking that he definitely knew the woman, so I told him to hold on for a minute while I asked,
“Hey, what’s your name, honey?”
“Who wants to know? You or that creep on the other end?”
I smiled and said, “Well actually we’re both kind of curious.”
“Sally. My name’s fucking, Sally.”
I backed up a few steps away to relay the name to Frankie.
His response was: “You gotta be kidding me! That’s a quality woman gone to waste. Mario, I’ll tell you what: she was the closest thing I’ve ever come to an orgasm.
“After all, it’s not easy to climax when you’re all foreskin, if ya know what I mean. That Sally fucked and sucked me for hours on end. She was really devoted to getting me off.
“I have a reputation for endurance. Ask around if you don’t believe me. It’s a fucking fact! You understand me, Mario?
“Nobody makes Frankie Foreskin bust a nut. Nobody!”
“That’s great, Frankie. I’m real proud of you. Lemme call you back in a minute.”
“Fuck that shit!” said Frankie. “You’re already cutting into my time. Time is money, Mario. Say goodbye to dead girl, and move your ass! Actually….
“Wait a minute. Could you grab her panties for me after she expires? You know, like a souvenir or something. Me and Sally spanned time together.”
“I’m not doing that, Frankie! Goodbye!”
I turned back around to the sight of the sexiest corpse I’ve ever seen. For awhile there I obsessed over how much priceless dialogue was lost ’cause of Frankie’s inability to shut the fuck up. Then I realized how much leverage I could have over the next purchase if I obtained the dead panties of Sally. It was discount time, and my phone was ringing again.
“What, Frankie?”
“Why’d she off herself, I gotta know? Why in the world would a gorgeous woman like that call it quits?”
“She said it had something with being immune to pleasure. Good enough reason, if you ask me.”
“I’ll snort to that.” said Frankie. And snort he did. I heard it. Immediately my mouth began to salivate.
“Frankie, gimme a minute.”
I walked over to the corpse, which was already on the ground, reached up her still slightly warm thighs, and removed the pink panties.
Her skin was so soft. Honestly, I couldn’t help myself from becoming aroused. I’ve always had a thing for psychotic women, and cemetery sex.
“I have the panties, Frankie. Let’s work out a deal.”
“Smell them! Describe the aroma!”
I took a giant whiff and said, “They smell like sexual frustration and detox. What about the color? Don’t you wanna know that?”
“No,” said Frankie. “That’s not important. Just bring them to me, pronto! I wanna walk around the house in them, just like the good old days.
“I’ll offer you half off of whatever is you’re looking to purchase.”
“Good enough, Frankie! I’ll see you soon.”
I kissed Sally on the cheek, took a few pictures with my phone, and proceeded to make my way back to the original journey at hand:
Dormont. I was going to have enough cash today for both drugs and pizza. What more could you ask for? It was a rarity in life. A day where we all came out as winners.


slasher sluts from hell

 

slash!

slice!

mash!

dice!

rip!

cut!

slit!

slut:

 

“a Scorn ~ Wrath production”

 

and this was                                                [by far]

my boyfriend’s lousy attempt

at a dinner & a movie seduction

especially from those

coldblooded machete toting bitches

as they tended to slither sensually,

rather than walk swiftly,               across

the hi-def plasma screen

in my boyfriend’s apt:

 

‘but I wanted to fuck your brains out

all over your leathered couch’, I w[h]ined

to my boyfriend,

 

‘baby, please!’, he bitched, ‘I don’t have

any cheese,’

 

‘prick!’

 

t’was the season

for all those Jason’s,

those Michael’s and

those Freddie’s

fulfilling every serial killer’s fantasy

chasing them ditzes, firecrotches

and Tanya Roberts look alikes

[before Tanya dyed her hair blond ~ post-Tourist Trap]

in re-runs & marathons

on some unknown TV channel

that didn’t end nor begin w/a C;

 

& my boyfriend wants to know why

I’m not one of them

high maintenance

movie slasher sluts

in porn metal gear,

virgin lace &

biker chic leather

[‘no pleather’, he says, ‘these sluts know better

than to offend’]

~ he grins ~

’cause he says he wants to see my double d’s

dragging desperately across

some bloody terrain of

gore, guts & brains

as if I’m being chased w/a machete

by a man called Machete,

while only wearing a rope for a thong

so his balls can cliffhang off my ass

after he’s bombed Hitler

out of my nazi shaven cunt;

 

but my

“would be”

B flick noir slut snatch

reeks of peachy fuzz

rolled in a day old blunt

I smoked the night before,

I admit, I’m a ‘blunt whore slut’

something I figured my boyfriend

would be happy with?

don’t I feel like the fucking ditz!;

 

I accidentally pop my boyfriend

an erected nipple

from my scarlet corset ~

my lousy attempt of an Elvira

impersonation ~

but he just pops

another slasher slut flick into the DVD player

and continues eating

his 7-layered [bean] dip;

it’s to bad

that my boyfriend wasn’t dead

’cause this would be the time

I’d spit on his grave;

 

& I think Leatherface

would have been disgraced

that my boyfriend didn’t suggest

a chainsaw slut flick

’cause I could’ve been crooning:

 

’50 ways to chop up your lover!’

 

leaving my boyfriend swooning

& I’d be getting laid right about now

but instead I’m watching part II of:

 

‘Slasher Sluts From Hell!’

 

I suck on a blunt

& finger the dip;

’cause it was obvious

that this

was going to be

the only slut action

I’d be having tonight.

 


Sir, sleepy 

naked on the bed spill –
my drink drops skate down
my sternum –
tummy
i ask if you would like to lick it off gent-ly –
but you are asleep
i watch the trail go cold into my body

pause

you between my legs
my stomach a rest for your head –
earwax glued to my belly
your snores vibrate against me.

 


 

ベトナムの芸者

 

scent is flagrant, pungent of an opium…

poppy`s, they bleed in seeds disrupt;

in her sleazy district of show long

butterflies weep

`neath the cocooned hues

like painted ladies

on red gossamer doors

blistering in dragon`s breath ~

mildew is a flower…

quaint and gold, rings on an absent finger

white paddies, they are vast

and evasive upon her mekong pu`bis

black as the center it folds, blossoms

bloom and scent of cherries papier mache

where blasphemous lover`s kiss in orals;

this is her celestial, sainted and fornicated

her face, damaged, her soul, feathered

and drifting in the bastard winds,

her body moans through her necessary bones;

in the afternoon teas and turtle baths of longevity

he who bids holds fast in the moments of forever;

 

 

this is the old way,

you will not see this again

 

 


 

 

black Whiskey in a dixie cup

 

and I`ve had my troubles

I tell you what

laid uncle jesse on the copper line

played 13 roulette

with my talkin` clit

loaded her with guns

and emptying clips, my slugs

have all become saviors `n saints

brass-trash silver-bullet and fuck me-blue

smothered in a lynch man`s residue

only coonhounds have a nose to follow…

and I swallows, nothin` hollow

this side of the Mississippi, Misses-hit-me;

I feel tipsy throttle sexy

when he sexts me

down that hangman`s cry me a riv`a

`specially when he trails my trail

legs ta limbs an` breaks my hymns

like cock`s in a bitch-hens den

I can feel them eggs startin` to soil

an` if I can`ts reach my sweet georgia peach

then I`m sure he`ll preach

with his paddles an` swats,

breakin` me in, churnin` me out

with his bibles an` ridin` crops

right `fore he sends me back to daddy

to water his cummunal roses,

I grabs his pew and spew

‘our father’s` hellelujah an` all men ~

but there`s a tyranny

in his biscuits and eyes, and gravy blues

they`s don`t lie but rather try

to smoke pipe the tails

of old tymers and christian folk

just ‘fore they hung that bitch

by her purty throat, her bodily

a squabblin`, lookin’ for hope

towards the heaven`s sky,

an `all she saw, he say,

was the devil dealin` appalachian moonshine,

an` her mama`s bluesy cries,

an` homemade cherry pie coolin`

on a window sill near her black whiskey

in a dixie cup

 

 


Daddy’s Home Early
Cleaning up the house
Dancing and sweeping
In his button up shirt
And frilly thongs
Daddy walks in
An hour early
Looks at me and shakes his head
Comes over and takes me by the chin
Princess you know I don’t have many rules
But the number one rule is
NO CLOTHES
Ripping open the shirt
buttons popping off
bouncing across the floor
Are you ready for your punishment
Yes sir
Sliding my thongs down
Stuffing them into my mouth
The name of this game is called
Quite time
The more noise you make
The harder and deeper I go

~ redemption has no CA value

 

acetones

in every blind melancholy

finds retribution;

but it’s in the rain…

where thirst quenches

those visceral

of pores

aching for salvation;

sadly,

there is no redemption here,

just an ocean

of rain

falling off my tulips;

my pussy needs

an umbrella

& a cigarette…

 

 

I unloved

that we

 

 

fu ~