Sheebah (Speak No Evil)

Traits of traivescent tissues

build upon her manners of splatter chain,

your triangles cannot hear you scream.


Claw at your rags,

hesitate on the formaldehyde

for seconds upon minettas—

play dead.


Sheebah makes her circuit,


slides you in

with razor blade marcaia

condensed upon her lips.


Partnered with groping lines of fog,

she straddles would-be well-being

with flawed zombie thighs.


She rescues a .45 from anal retention,

moves the barrel musically

between your gums and teeth—

its body feels cold and sloppy

against your tongue

as she pulls the trigger…



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