The sticky feeling of guilt.
Is it even guilt?
Isn't it disgusting to be touched all over,
groped and licked into submission.
All by the wealth of old.
Men in their business suits.
Fancy shirts and ties.
CEO demeanors, my ass.
Unbuttoned collars with smears of human grease.
Old human oil.
Folded cuffs with stick stains.
Lips? Money thrown in all directions.
Payment for the revelry of bare flesh,
seething hearts and desensitized acceptance.
Maybe, we are not *bleep* at all.
You'd easily think that earning good money
would do good to men with good families,
living good lives. They must have had
lots of paper cuts. My body worked hard
for this paper. You throw it at me
in good cheer. Payday.
I've unearthed several old writings. Some are on paper, some are on my old file folders saved on my old computer. Funny, how it still sits well right now. I'll think about posting other humiliating works. Or maybe it's best not to. Happy weekend!