In the night I tape your mouth after stitching it up.
I warn you, and then I say,
I’m going to empty out the garbage.
Listen to this lullaby, sweetheart.
Whistle while you work.
Shut the fuck up,
Keep your legs shut.
See how you like it.
Your sentence is more familiar than my own face.
Your efforts are crashes and brain damage- Bipolar disorders.
Your memory, impeccable. Your points, flawless.
You pull out a key to the locked house door,
Which leads to the locked bedroom door,
Which leads to the locked closet door.
You others like Lost think I’m fucking joking, and you giggle inside,
But I’m not.
My place on your bed is to fill empty spaces, sweetheart,
To render the appropriate company,
To disguise voids.
And you shout,
Encore, encore--
I’m a slave queen.
Pardon, your slave queen.
Truth is, I do this to silence doubt.
Truth is, I can only do this while you sleep.
Incoherent. Oblivious. Unresponsive and angelic.
All this venom and I still kiss your taped mouth before falling asleep.
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