sade murphy
self portrait: spray paint and cruelty on canvas |
today you drink black coffee you are all over it you are grilled chocolate croissant you are gin ginger ale more cheap Pinot Grigio than writer more writer than woman O but so much innocence O dear naïve chickadee you are ripe to be ruined you so eager to please wool grows in your name & I will scrape away your softness see you roasted & vulnerable in a blue cotton dress or a gauzy floral skirt you blossom like a cactus that I want to taste I have to break I need you to buckle on your knees under the ventifact of my distant affection I crave you like an infectious disease I necrotize your flesh like a brown recluse your potholed skin remains memorial & your eyes espresso & your skin cafe au lait pachydermis your butt a tire swing your toenails bleeding rubies & you are a sweetheart really but I want to bite into you like an onion like a radish like my own lip or tongue the wincing is genuine darling unlike the way you make your water blush cranberry & every breath poetic I want to pinch your precious cheeks until you cry out drying the well in your womb you mawkish masochist you syrupy slut you make me heave bile and roaches swarm from my mouth I want to starve you you are a fresh field of snow to piss on the space between two chairs back to back inconvenient to passerby
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self portrait: flowers and fury pressed in a book
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you: a slave to taxonomic fervor. you: too smart for your own good. you: basic, bitch. you: fat, slut. you: queer, cunt. I want to make love to you in public. you: my sugar sphinx. I want to trace my tongue across the animachisma of your woman's body. I want to strap you on and violate every oppression. you: Leviathan. your name is a steeple. I want you to explode like a rickrolling cumshot compilation. there’s no cure for you. baby don’t play nice. you: a bruise. touching you is like handling a raw steak. you: the inevitable post orgasm smile. you: the aftermath. you: dilapidated chiffon. if you were a serial killer you would Bob Barker your victims and andalou their eyes dressed as Betty Boop. you: a woman made out of lava. your skin is thick but I can feel the heat. they want you to lighten up. baby don’t take a joke. I want to run away with you. I want to take you away from all this. but you: the ocean. I can’t take you anywhere.
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self portrait: sidewalk chalk and sedition smeared on a brick road
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I am memorizing the composition of you. Left iris around an undilated pupil. It reminds me of a starburstscarred tree ring. How black coffee is not really black. When you stand in the mirror the first fortyfive seconds are harsh scrutiny. you don’t have to be a hairless Normcore twat. you are already a highly invisible target. your heart has somatic nerves. you lose Seoul, Salto, Stockholm. you commune with the inscrutable. Under the influence I allow you to rise to the surface of my twowayglassskin. you become my last will and testament. Everyone else is just a witness.
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Successful and wealthy chanteuse SADE MURPHY arrived in the Glitterground with a flourish. She's a successful singer and a businesswoman, owner of the music company "Titania Records" and nightclubs around the world. She is also famous on the Broadway scene, and a superstar in Hollywood musicals. The grueling, unglamorous work of being a Hollywood actress is described in detail in her critically lauded book, DREAM MACHINE. After numerous suicide attempts, a year-long black list from the entertainment world, and two failed marriages, a recent career shift saw Sade become a lawyer specializing in international law, criminal law, human rights, and extradition. Her clients include Julian Assange, the founder of WikiLeaks, in his fight against extradition. She is married to American actor George Clooney.
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