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Teenage Whore

These are the sounds of my home town.
Thirty different kinds of footsteps.

This is the history of my home town.
Written in a diary in a dirty caravan.

These are the people.
Windowpanes squeaking under stroking fingertips.

Everyone meets themselves dead.
A sexual corpse, abandoned.
Two teeth prominent in a desiccated head.

You can fascinate yourself.
You are already dying.
You are already an adulteress.
You have already been here, making
thirty different kinds of footsteps,
mouth wide open like a hole.

I have the face of my home town.
Covered by a cage, with holes and holes beneath.
My wanton limbs folded double in a cupboard, hidden.
A slut and a criminal both.

It’s not so bad,
it’s what’s written on the cupboard walls.

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Comments (1)

EMOTIONS ARE DESTRUCTIVE, DARK, ALL CONSUMING AND DISTURBING; YOU UNDERSTAND THIS BETTER THAN ANYONE. DON'T BE ASHAMED OF THIS, IF WE DENY OUR EMOTIONS WE DENY OUR SOUL ITS FREEDOM. YOU HAVE A POWERFUL WAY WITH WORDS. DON'T FEEL GUILTY FOR BEING HUMAN! BEST WISHES X