Human Sacrifices and Sheet

BlckMTade’s heart is broken into three pieces. It was split into two whole halves for a long time, but it was shattered last night, and there are three pieces now.

Tonight, he’ll meet a new woman, and in a few days, he’ll make passionate love to her. She’ll think he’s madly in love with her, but he wouldn’t really be, obviously. He is, and he would be, in love with someone else who has declared herself unavailable, and for a while, the new woman would become his true love’s clone. 

Maggots and contaminated blood from an untreated, rotten wound in his heart, anger- fiery anger, and sweet-bitter desire would be the new recipe for his semen, for her new meal, and she would lick and suck and swallow in delight, without a slight clue on how or under what conditions it was prepared.

The good or not so good news, depending on what side you’re on, is that he will get better. Within 6-8 months, he’ll get over the old girl, and, unfortunately, the new girl. She would not be so new anymore. He would not be as vulnerable, and the wound would be fairly healed by that time, so he would change; he would become his true self again. 

It would be time to search for a real replacement; he’ll be totally done with the “living sacrifice”. The not-so-new-anymore girl’s heart will be split into two halves when his behaviour changes, and of course, it’ll be shattered into three pieces when he announces that she is of no true use to him; she was, but not anymore. 

Advertisements

My Mind= Field | My Feelings= Ball

Falling in love with fire,
an obsessive, compulsive liar,
was the most exhausting thing
that I had ever done
since the very minute
that I was born.

He would say,
‘Air, you need to come on stronger
if you want to have me.”
So, I would give him more air,
and we would start a fire right there.

Then he would say,
“woah, this is too much for me;
you’re going to blow me out.
If you don’t leave me be for as long as I need,
you will go many days without.”
So, of course, I would withdraw,
until our fire was no more.
It made my soul so sore.

Extremely hot,
extremely cold.
Extremely fickle,
nothing to mold.
Extremely mean,
no heart to hold.
I never told him off;
I was never so bold.

“Us” Died

Our light became darkness.
Our love became hatred.
Our laughter became silence.
Our future became our past.
I knew “our” was dying
the day you came home with “my”.


“Our penis” became “my penis”.
“Our children” became “my children”.
“Our house” became “my house”.
“Our mother” became “my mother”.

The African Woman’s Dilemma

25555648_1538370519611644_756203203_n1. “You shouldn’t restrict a man’s sense of freedom; you have to let him explore if he chooses to. You can’t be possessive of men; they are not built that way.”

 

2. “He has been seen in hotels several times with different women. It’s such a shame that his wife can’t keep a man.” 

Too Good for Her

You tell her you don’t deserve
her when you have nothing.
Then you get something- many things;
you become the king of things.
You begin to regret the sweet nothings
you uttered when you were naked,
when your hands were empty.

Beelzebub pays you a visit.
He perches on your penis,
washes on your eyes,
and shows you beelzeboobs and beelzebutts.
Then he tells you she doesn’t deserve you.
He reminds you that she can’t spell “deserve”.

You can now see all her inadequacies,
her mistakes,
her little flaws.
The things you used to love
quickly become the things you hate,
the things you can’t stand,
the things that irritate.

Who deserves whom?
Who deserves what?
Who deserves whom?
Who deserves “what?!”
Who deserves whom?
Who deserves worth?

disaSTAR

If the stars come together as one,
they’d make a gorgeous display.
If the little moons left the Moon
to spread across the sky,
they’d create something beautiful too.
A twinkling, giant disaSTAR,
and its little MOONsters.

It won’t last for long;
stars aren’t built to not crave for attention.
At least one would pop
out of the group often and complain,
“I’m not being noticed enough!”,
and in no time, there’d be no group.
The moons are better together as one Moon;
things are good as they are.

Choose One, Choose Me

I so desperately wanted to be a star,
and now that you have made me one,
how do I tell you that I hate it when
I struggle for your attention?

I want to be the star,
the only star, on this sky,
and if that wish is impossible to grant,
make me the guiding star.
I want to have you to myself, Moon.
I really hate the way you ‘her’;
I want you to turn things ‘her-round’.

Sick and Tired

I’m sick and tired
of being sick and tired,
so tired of being sick,
so sick of being tired.

I’m so tired of being love-sick,
and just as intensely,
so sick of the way you make me tired.

You make me uncomfortable when
you place a third on our love seat,
when you make me struggle for your attention
like the weakest star among the
lot who love and want to be with the moon,
when I lie with you and there’s no heat.

I am sick and tired of you, of this us, of the way you ride me like a horse.

The Hole Time

The whole time was the hole time.
Each time, we dug,
wherever we were,
whenever we wet.

Many times, we dug,
us two complete strangers who
liked the idea that we were one.

Every time, we dug,
so much so that we would sweat profusely,
but we couldn’t find each other
despite all the work.

All the time, we dug,
the whole time, at hole times,
we buried our love a-lie-ve.

Keep Out of Reach of Children

I liked your touch so much,
I became fragile,
but you were too young to handle fragile;
you broke me.