365 Pirouettes Ago in a Decade-Old Stage

365 Pirouettes Ago in a Decade-Old Stage

The beats have whispered there’s nothing to fear
Perhaps there won’t be encores, only a song for a memory
Do you still have a stereo or a Walkman at least
To travel to where innocence touched an apple at its ripest
When it wasn’t yet time to go forth and leave The Garden

(how did these eyes learn to seduce an audience
with nothing to look at but dizzy and aging spotlights
masking strangers who watch her writhe and twist for applause
a sudden spark from the princess crowned with thorns
spreading her legs in the most of graces and stretch of bones)

We’ll search for that record in that classic cassette tape
The instant seek bar can’t go back to the pain
Turning pencils like rewinders clockwise like always
Listen again and again and again until it jams and breaks
She was a little girl who tiptoed to dance
She was a little girl who held the world once

(c) 2012
Vivien Marie Lopez

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

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THE AGENT PROVOCATEUR: Question

THE AGENT PROVOCATEUR: Question

Does the darkness of the night hold more secrets
Or is it the day where hellions chase you in and with the sun
Busy and tall and bright and preoccupied with precise pretense
When all that transpired under the moon gets ripped apart
The morning after the buzz wears off and the bite of the five begins:

1. SIGHT
2. TOUCH
3. SMELL
4. TASTE
5. HEARING

(c) 2012
Vivien Marie Lopez

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He Killed Me Well

It’s all that simple.

Your arms: wrapped around me tight
Your lips: pressed hard into mine.
Said you love me in breathless whispers.
Okay, here’s one night I want to last forever.

Your hand: holding my face closer to yours.
Your tongue: playing slowly with mine
God, it’s so easy to fall for your lies.
Do these bite marks you left mean anything to you?
I wish they do. I know they don’t.
Shhhh, I know what you’re after.

Your body: close to me that I could feel your body heat.
Your finger: stroking my hair mischievously.
I just so love the way you kiss. (sexy).
It makes me get lost in my senses.
And I really hate you for this.

Sweet. Sensual. Painful.
Love is pain, and pain is love. Cliché but true.
Your love is a game of evil lust.  It makes you look so cunning.
Clever.
My love is sacrifice, a mad passion. It makes me look foolish.
Stupid.

You get to brag when you get to score.
(And I get to be called a whore.)
They all know I know what you’re after.

For this, you killed me well.

It is all that simple.

 

 

(c) 2006, October
Vivien Marie Lopez

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The Ziggurat

Fifteen minutes.


Stitch her lips
Bind her limbs
Wide doe eyes
Cunt-core cries

 
Grin, grind, then gore
Dirty mind and teeth and more
Shiny happy straightrazor
Run it hard down south, sexy
Hum a song, lil last mercy

 
Rip her fair firm hide
Kiss her from the inside
Moist and mysterious
Masticate maroon mangoes
Sip saucy sienna strawberries
Chew cascading chest cavities
Jets of jest of jelly juice
Red ocean summer cruise

 
Flaming torch spread her rectum
Insert the seething sun in her anus
Sail further south her hips
Cut her clit and pussy lips
Go inside crucify a cervix
Go deeper, between and twist
Scent of piss and death and jizz

 
Slide your tongue on her wounds
You know you’re in love mister your heart’s hooked
Spit saliva swallow her vagina
Embrace entrails and inhale her viscera

 
Time standing still stroking seconds
Stoked in the rush and pick an axe
Love her and love her
Hack and divide and crush and dismember
Loiter and lust and linger and devour
Masturbate and taste and conquer and eviscerate
Tease and tell her it’s alright and tear and tuck and take
Fillet and splay and neuter and flay
Impale and pull and grab and bash and decapitate

 
Drop her name and a look at this piece of art, and thank the Fates
Tremble and tick one second:

 

Ejaculate.

(c) 2012
Vivien Marie Lopez

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SIKRETO BUNAL

Prologue: Huni-huni ni Tiyoy Linong

Kapiyar kamo nga kung pakadto ka pa lang kag gadali ka, kadugay-dugay, dasun kung pabalik na dasig lang? Na bala nga gapalamuti mata mo ya sang hulat nga makalab-ot kung diin ka makadto, dason gasala-sala ka, kag dason kung okay na ya tanan kag tapos mo na imu hilimuon kag wala ka naman ga problema kag matulutawhay na man lang, dira pa ya nga ka swabe lang sang byahe. Nami no? Daw ka kaulugot?

Nan, amu man na siya kung grabe pangabudlay mo sakripisyo, kompromiso kag pasensiya kag dason, sa kalawig-lawig nga gina ubra mo na upod sang tawo nga nakapabag-o simo kag gulpi lang maglain ang panulokan mo sa iya kag madula na lang tanan kag huo eh, tapuson na lang kag amo na, balik ka naman sa daan mo nga opisyo Kung instakto na o kun sala, ambot, wala ko labot, basta amo na.

Basta amo na di ang puno kag dulo sini nga istorya. Pamatii lang ko bala, kis’a man lang ni nga may mga amo ni nga mga sikreto nga ma guwa, kunsabagay indi na man ni gani guro bag-o, galing mayo lang mga tawo mag tago kag ang tsismis indi man na instakto, wala ka man saligan kundi imo lang man mata kag nabatyagan.

Te, mangape na ta? Storyahan ta ni ah.

(c) 2012
Work in Progress

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PHIL’S LODGING HOUSE

PHIL’S LODGING HOUSE

I.

“PHIL’S LODGING HOUSE, LIGHTS ON 24/7! DIAL 9-223 FOR ROOM SERVICE,” a handwritten typewriting paper on the wall informed. “WE HAVE STEAK AND COFFEE. PLEASE DO CHECK OUR MENU UNDER THE TABLE! AFFORDABLE PRICES. NO ALCOHOL FOR MINORS.”

He reached out for the phone, positioned a finger on the button labeled “9,” then hesitated. No steaks for tonight, coffee or anything else the dipshit menu offers.

He sat on the single bed and glanced at the clock, a freebie from a fastfood joint with the logo as background for hands.

Too late for sleep now.

He looked at his erect, salmon-colored dick, its head gleaming like a motherfucking crystal ball set against the glare of an ornate bedside lamp. He started on the shaft and stroked his otherwise rare boner. He tried to recall her, when she was naked with him and her nipples were hard and she was wearing one of those little panties with tulip prints, one that would remind you of virginity and youth and innocence found and lost.

He tried to remember how wet she was underneath that prepubescent-looking underwear despite her rejecting pleas, how she slowly took the precious undergarment off and moved on top of him sans tears.

He looked at his penis again, but now it has become limp and flaccid, as if his balls were lilac. His palms and armpits were now wet with perspiration, as moist as that cunt he has brought into flights of fancy upon his bald skull.

Then he curled up, stared at his proud, shiny, sharp police badge, set it aside, went into full fetal position, and allowed his tear ducts to just fuck it and go.

Please, she will come back. She will. She knows where you are.

He cried the whole night away, cried until he imagined his tears were blood, cried for himself and what he had lost.

II.

The front desk clerk, Jimmy, chewed his already-cracked lip. He looked nervous, so nervous that he felt like defecating and pissing and laughing simultaneously.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but there’s no Arnie Sunday in here,” he tried again, hoping that this predatory-looking witch of a woman in front of him would not eat his face or gouge out his eyes or cut off his lisping tongue, as her nose was millimeters away from his.

“I know he’s here and I know you’re hiding him,” the witch screamed. “Regular customer, hah! I know it. I know and you fucking know. So get him out. I want to see my fucking husband. I want to fucking see that bastard!”

Jimmy cringed at that last word, the syllables stretched and sounded like “baaaaahhhhs-teeeerd!,”  too high-pitched for effect. He looked around for Phil, the lodging house’s owner, scanning the place for the trademark bowler hat and a pipe forever imbibed in a mustache-covered mouth, but there’s no help but God.

“WHERE THE FUCKING HELL IS HE?” The banshee wailed.

“Easy here, he’s just a kid.”

Jimmy met the eyes of his savior, the mighty Phil. He gave him a weak smile.

“What do we have here?” Phil asked. Then, realizing he seemed impolite, he cleared his throat. “Good morning, madame. May I help you?”

The woman took a step backward, finally allowing Jimmy to breathe, and gave him a look Jimmy can only describe as that of an agitated alpha male gorilla, if you’ve ever seen one bare its teeth and its huge powerful mouth.

“Look, Mister, my daughter has been missing for a week, and I know Arnie’s been nailing some filthy tramp in this shithole, so you see, do you understand what kind of situation this is? Do you have any idea? Do you even own a fucking heart, Mister? A soul, perhaps?” The woman screeched throughout the tirade, but calmer otherwise.

Then she took a long breath, fixed the topmost button of her blouse, slipped a calling card, walked away and while slamming the door shut, she muttered something Jimmy didn’t understand, but Jimmy knew that she was on the verge of tears and wished he had more patience.

III.

She stretched her legs and leaned them against the wall, circles of cigarette smoke floating like bubbles from her mouth. She looked at him, asleep and tired and drained, while she’s all alive and alert, if a little bit dazed in the afterglow.

She ran her finger through his arm, felt his veins.  He stirred. She puffed. He’s still. She’s fucked. Big time. Big fucking time, because screw it, Mom doesn’t know and care what Daddy’s doing but yes, Daddy loves beautiful Lily, so he said every time he whispers in her ear and caresses her thighs and her pussy and her budding breasts and her stomach and her hair.  Daddy knows the law, Daddy knows her skin and bones and beauty. It hurt, yes, and it’s confusing, and it felt good, and it doesn’t feel right but oh Lily knows no one can love her like her Daddy can. But no, Daddy can’t know about Michael. She’d die for Michael, but she’d kill for Daddy.

Fuckity fuck, fuckity fuck, suck my pussy kiss my cunt. I ain’t coming home Ma, I’m hitting home run with my Pa. Fuckity fuck, fuckity fuck, my boyfriend’s got a sick lollipop. But boys oh boys will hurt me so, boys oh boys will say I’m a ho. So fuckity fuckity fuck, Daddy’s gonna make their nuts pop. 

Lily squeezed Michael’s arm for the nth time, then seeing no response, she let go. No, she can’t run away with him, not when she doesn’t believe his crap he called love. No, and if she did, and whether he breaks her heart or not Daddy will find him and hurt him either way. No, no man is good enough for her. They’re all the same. They all want to love you and hurt you. Just like Daddy. No, Daddy’s different, he loves Lily. No.

No, she wants to reject love. She wants to be loved. She wants him. She wants him not. She loves him, hates him. Loves Michael and Daddy, hates them both. Men.  What does the world know?

The ceiling and walls, both white and pure though old, stared at her as she stared back.

She has to run. Not with Michael. Not with anyone. Alone.

She picked up her favorite tulip printed panties, wore them, wore all that could cover her soul and youth and being.  She kissed Michael briefly, headed for the door, determined, turned on the ignition in her car, thought of a place to spend the night, somewhere comfortable, somewhere men could see for what she really is, somewhere –

she turned left and headed for Phil’s.

Fuckity fuckity fuck, fear is but a powerful enemy. Fuckity fuckity fuck, Father, forgive me for I have sinned.

(c) 2012

Vivien Marie A. Lopez

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DOLLS & TOY CARS

Part of The Slut and the Shakes Series, pre-concept.

Vivien Marie A. Lopez

 

She paints her nails in deep dark crimson

And pouts her lips for sheer seduction.

She waits for him with a condom in her bag

And sure, she knows everybody thinks she’s a tramp.

 

Her bruises for pain, her fall for dignity.

What makes life, only her man’s hot wheels.

She gives herself up, forever having him, a wish.

He makes love with her, one wet disgusting dish.

 

Sure, she knows he’s got some chick on the phone.

But she never says she’s better off alone.

 

She draws a line underneath her eyes

The tears and the drama should be left behind

And he arrives with Mary’s scent on his sleeve

But she smiles at him and says he’s her everything.

 

And he says she’s special and it’s true

But that’s only because she’s something to be used.

(c) 2005

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Like A Virgin – Oops. (c) 2011