Nothing, Nothing at all

a poem about nothing, nothing at all

The way you're holding me, squeezing me,
like I'm nothing,
nothing at all.
With pink spread over the pale of my face,
my desperate, bleeding with lipstick lips are giggling and
kissing your desolate, dark maw. As your hand slides down-

a part of me knew that this was happening again,
that I was about to become a
vessel, once more.
One to be filled, then killed then-
eventually revived again.

I remember when you found my body in the same place the others before had,
you looked me up and down, with
light in your eyes,
as I started to breathe again.
Now your hands are travelling up and down my body,
like I'm a bed to be made, or a cake to baked,
I cushion you from the stress, I fill your belly up with warmth,
and as I look down at my stained everything-

and wipe my mouth i see that i am filled with nothing,
nothing at all, once more.
but don't feel bad for me,
i love it, no really,
i live off of it, that light i see in someone's eyes.

i get down on my knees for it,
get hit, squeezed, pulled in every direction for it,
stretched so thin until i can no longer see for it.
When i know i'm about to be used up
to my full potential-
'Again!?'
I also know the eventual disposal of my sexual keys, but I pretend

that love will proceed, for me.
But, I feel
nothing, nothing...
at all.
i love it, but not really?

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"like I'm a bed to be made, or a cake to be baked"
I particularly like that line.
This sounds reminiscent of Denise Levertov.
one of the confessional poets of the Beats.
j.

[John the Baptist]

Sex will not summon love. Only love will call its own.

[Keon Batson]

Clap it up for this one!!