Mallory
11-07-2007, 07:25 PM
la petite mort
the little death
I’ve learned to murder you
early at night
just after dinner as you sag against
the cushions of the
wearing out sofa
you tell me we can’t afford to replace,
yet.
I wash dishes
while listening for distant children
who may rise from tumbled sleep
to share the
theft of my evening’s freedom
time punctuated, click, click
by the restless remote
in your hand.
You call my name when you hear
no more sounds of
endless duty household chores.
You name me honey, sweetie,
darling love –
your lack of subtlety demands
the remains of my
time.
You never see me
standing in the hallway’s darkness
calculating the exact number of minutes
it will take me to silence your – needs.
You follow me upstairs,
your victory in hand,
certain of your powers of attraction
unaware I’m already planning my evening,
on the sofa,
without you.
So easy to play your lust and temptations
I seduce your body with
rote movements, noises and words
carefully orchestrated to rise at just
the right moment, then,
I murder 500 million of your cells and take
sadistic pleasure in watching as
your vigor of life collapses when your
body shuts down in falsified
reproductive trauma
a little more dead each night.
Ten minutes to silence…
I drop a sheet over your body,
freed to,
my evening of no more duties
promises or expectations.
(©2007 F.R.R. Mallory - Released under Creative Commons License)
https://www.mallorywrites.com/somerights.gif
This poem was written to assignment for my creative writing class with Richard Speakes, the poet. This is my 17th poem (ever) and is noteworthy for my significant limitations in this form. The content was inspired by an article I read several years ago by Rob Brezsny (https://www.freewillastrology.com)
scorpiomoon requested I post something so BLAME THEM :wink:
the little death
I’ve learned to murder you
early at night
just after dinner as you sag against
the cushions of the
wearing out sofa
you tell me we can’t afford to replace,
yet.
I wash dishes
while listening for distant children
who may rise from tumbled sleep
to share the
theft of my evening’s freedom
time punctuated, click, click
by the restless remote
in your hand.
You call my name when you hear
no more sounds of
endless duty household chores.
You name me honey, sweetie,
darling love –
your lack of subtlety demands
the remains of my
time.
You never see me
standing in the hallway’s darkness
calculating the exact number of minutes
it will take me to silence your – needs.
You follow me upstairs,
your victory in hand,
certain of your powers of attraction
unaware I’m already planning my evening,
on the sofa,
without you.
So easy to play your lust and temptations
I seduce your body with
rote movements, noises and words
carefully orchestrated to rise at just
the right moment, then,
I murder 500 million of your cells and take
sadistic pleasure in watching as
your vigor of life collapses when your
body shuts down in falsified
reproductive trauma
a little more dead each night.
Ten minutes to silence…
I drop a sheet over your body,
freed to,
my evening of no more duties
promises or expectations.
(©2007 F.R.R. Mallory - Released under Creative Commons License)
https://www.mallorywrites.com/somerights.gif
This poem was written to assignment for my creative writing class with Richard Speakes, the poet. This is my 17th poem (ever) and is noteworthy for my significant limitations in this form. The content was inspired by an article I read several years ago by Rob Brezsny (https://www.freewillastrology.com)
scorpiomoon requested I post something so BLAME THEM :wink: