My Rock

The stone statue

On her pedestal of dignity.

Strength: the foundations of

Her figure, chiseled like fine weaponry.

Maybe if I take such sharpness

A glistening blade of beauty

And carve, craft,

Shape and sculpt, and-

The dirty red

Liquid waste

Trickles uselessly,

Impatient fingers flick

At the ugly obscenities,

Filthy flesh: slabs of meat

Tossed to the ravenous pigs

Who grunt, snort their arrogant appreciation,

Grotesque glee whilst

Rolling in mud.

Ridded of the impure grime

I slice off my right breast

The "soft… plumpness…’’ prevails

Ooh yeah, you like that?

See how my blood boils.

It’s easier to share, make fair

No face: no disgrace.

You like it messy, after all

I will rise up to

Immortality

My lifetime, my "prime"

Is not stamped on my skin

That rots at your touch

Under your fingernails

Between your teeth

No. I am cleanly engraved on the strong, stone slab,

I am solidarity.

Unfeeling,

Empty and cold.

What better way to be?

In a world where "love" grows mould.