La Petit Mort

I.
Masturbation is best
when using both hands
wrapped tightly like pursed lips
with a hot-ass tongue flicking
to seal an envelope
containing the winning Lottery ticket—
taking breath away from those who envy.

II.
That's how Death must feel like
when she comes-a-knockin',
taking one by surprise,
too early or too late in life.
Like Grandma whose eyes welled,
mirroring Angels who soon took her breath
as she clapped, celebrating life.

III.
Alone
He hanged himself daily
While jerking off
To borrowed VHS tapes
Until ejaculation,
Until the little death, inside him,
Deprived him of life.

Poem #25 of 365: Next

Her hair grows
fast like weeds
in momma's flowerbed.
Daddy shaved
her bald
for rolling her eyes,
back-talkin',
and being sassy.
He got mad
she h ad
a friend
who was a boy.
I heard daddy and sister
fighting one night,
"I'll make sure no boy
every looks at you again!"

Daddy says
she ran away
in the middle of the night
with some boy.
Daddy says
never mention her name
in our Christian home,
or God would punish me
Next.

Poem #24 of 365: The Little Death

Cold coffee spills
on my lap,
waking up
my unborn children
from their nap,
who'll never see
the light of day
or Life beyond
a hungry throat,
clinging onto
the back
of a pierced tongue
waiting for
a second swallow,
a third
and fourth
swallow
where gastric acids
will disintegrate them
and life will continue
for everyone
but me.