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Click hereViolence lessons at nine
and pleasure stripped
from intimacy and love.
Rape in repeated succession -
these visions to spring to mind
at the most inconvenient times.
Two of my parts collide,
one that is the purest part of me,
the other, some foreign part
who whispers in my ear
things to do to make him scream.
One part carries all my dreams
of honed and intimate romance,
while the other part vies with desire
to rip up flesh into a bloody mess.
Not truly separated, not split,
just hidden and quiet in sober light.
She emerges like a thorn through silk
when inebriated nights beckon.
She remembers the lessons
and uses them expertly,
for a rush of power
the performance will give her.
There's one silver thread, so thin,
of the horror that clouds
my life in repetitive pain,
and that thread is this pleasure.
There is a type of pleasure that is painful ~ sexual gratification - joypain.
One of those women,
You know the type,
That always appear to be on the brink of exploding.
The double entendre in the first line left me expecting more.
Instead the poem turns into a hard little piece
about a little piece hardened (to double the entendre)
to survive as she must
just
split into two
wondering
which one
is who?
Duality worth pondering.
is hard to let go...and duel reminders pull us into each void by the energy of perception...great expression...and feeling ...thanx/bluerain