Killing the Form

Am I allowed to disrespect the form. Am I allowed to instead proclaim that he’s raped me. That it just happened. And that I was small and formidable, a fruit or something else taking in from the sun and expanding. Am I allowed to say that I didn’t write it for you. Am I allowed to say that I’ve fucked four women and three men and owed nothing in the aftermath. Am I allowed to say that I didn’t do it for him or because of him, or to heal, or to mitigate the universe’s monopoly on wellness – but to be an organ in post survival, a dim sound existing retroactively, a full circle sold.


“In what way is the instinctive connected with the compulsion to repetition?”*

Boobs
Breasts, is that all you got?
Boobs

                             consent
                             Blck, is that all you got?
                             absence

I am happening in public & cannot bear the trope of it
                   I am taking it off.

                    Spell blck
                                           compulsively
to make blck



                                    art.