Passive Aggressive Wishes

Big hills in small steps. Short walks over a long distance. Like drunk sex. Needing to be naked. From the inside out. Born into oblivion. One stranger at a time. Falsely casual sex. A perfect dissection of each motive of every hole the female body compulsively flaunts. Bright, little thunderstorms erupt from quiet skin. She wants to be penetrated. Sex. The incessant sting of angry yellow jackets.

Stabbing until numbness arrives. Leaving no barbs inside her. As she'd always hoped they would. No souvenirs at all, except the dead skin that fills those empty spaces.

Just the tantrums of lonely men gnawing on her nipples until blood became milk. Just flaccid penises stabbing at their dead mothers until all women were as useless.

Machine guns of flesh trying to make every hole in her bigger. Resentful because there are more than they can fill.

She had made her wish.

A penny seemed expensive.