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. 

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Today Was Tomorrow

Mulata

Mulata em Rua Vermelha, 1960

I was too busy wondering if you
would still love me tomorrow,
too busy to sense that our today was tomorrow.
Our very beginning was our end;
our tomorrow did not exist.
It was all far too torn for us to mend.

I feel stupid for giving our children names-
the ones we were supposed to have,
the ones we would never have
because “we” itself was struggling to breathe,
because “we” itself was dying.

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?