The Widow’s Wank-Whimper & The Brambles Of Sorrow
Down below her barbed wire waist
is ‘Dead Man’s Land’
used to defecate
and piss out poison only.
Sex is a mongrel dog
with a manky eye
in need of castration.
To be controlled
and leashed at all times.
The last time she foolishly
touched herself and came.
Her fingertips lost grip
and she dropped
as heavy as the word ‘No’
into the abyss
that he had left behind.
It took her 18 long months
to crawl back up onto shore.
Nowadays… instead…
she practices throwing knives
inside her furious mind.
Whilst waiting adamantly
for tonight’s inevitable
clawing match with insomnia.
© Paul Tristram 2016
