Love whore
by Elizabeth Rose
Christ, to
take that
innocence
and suggest
that there
is more, to
make him
thirst the
dirt that
I have come
to abhor, suck
him hard and
disguise the rot
with home
cooked ham,
what a sick
fuck I am
that is left,
wanton: more
bile than a
drunk resides
in my guts.
Morals of a
rapist impale
my looks, the
mirror’s cracked
yet myself; the same,
not shamed, with
self discussed.
February 18th, 2008 at 8:47 am
[...] Bio – Elizabeth Rose Murray has a regular haiku slot on dogmatika, fiction on savage manners and 3am, flash fiction on six sentences plus poetry in The Ranfurly Review, DeComposed and The Beat. She also writes poetry critique and getting published blogs and is writing a novel. She lives in the south of Spain. [...]
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