Maybe Another Time
So I sat and watched this blond piece of meat walking around in nothing but a white shirt and pajama pants. I gave him a flat smile and told him to follow me home. He did like a good little puppy looking for a spot to bury his bone. Anyways, it didn't take but a few overly used words and a worn out face to get him into handcuffs and the harness about the bed. No drugs to get him out of his skin, nothing but steel bolts thrust in between ribs The screams bounced off the rubber ball and ripped back down his bloody throat. I stopped. "Sorry, I just don't have the heart for this tonight. But, since I've already started this, I really can't let you go. I'm going to go outside and have a cigarette, don't go anywhere." I shove a catch pan under his shaken bones. The cigarette did nothing for my mood. Neither did bludgeoning his pretty little head with a toaster til' his eye popped out. I couldn't forget that goddamn dream. I laid under that battered body and let my fingers roam around his swollen skull. No love for this on. I wanted something to cure my ennui. Those eyes that kept changing. This one's were dull and already rotting. Quickly I pulled my hand away. My eyes closed and I let the blood dribbled into the hollows of my face. Sorry boy, maybe another time.