(March 31, 1936 / Detroit, Michigan)

The Friend

We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.

Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.

I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?

User Rating: 3,5 / 5 ( 33 votes ) 10

Comments (10)

Beautiful, simply beautiful image u put out here. Thsnks for sharing
Altruism will not be shown out, wherever selfishness doesn't exist. What matters is, how much of this or that. Nice writing. Thanks for sharing.
Interesting but I think the guy is abnormal.
This is what most of the males are like. Dominant and arrogant. Your annoyance is understandable. Nice poem
your poem got me in perceive mood wow, how sweet n loving good of you
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