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carnival adoration

i plead with my hands
wringing the blood out
of some dirty articles of laundry
that read with headlines like
"abortion takes the meat and the money:
will the world still go round?"
who the fuck cares! aren't
we sick of spinning yet
and its obvious i am not
dizzy enough 
because you still don't look
pretty
(at all).
i can't climb underneath the covers 
next to you. let me get 
one more around in 
or maybe more.
and you don't care,
you hate yourself as much as
i hate you.
its nauseating standing
wide-eyed
in front of you.
its okay when we are spun and
our vision is out of place.
altered a bit, your face
rearranged
in smears and 
i can deal with that.
i can love you a lot
i can tell.
you trip out so well.
distortion is a bitch
a beautiful bitch
and i want to do you,
her,
whoever this 
malfunctioned perfection is 
that you have become
every time i close my eyes and let you
put your hands on me,
turning me round and round
fast as you can.
every time i let my lids slip open after the spin
you are so fucking gorgeous
i pull you by the hair until
your mouth and mine are
touching
and we are
swapping saliva
like its you i adore.

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