by: Micah Parker
Voluptuous, vivaciously exotic;
The dawn sets and her spikes grow old
like the old man’s toll with sweat,
glistening in the night’s forthcoming.
I can’t recall a time when she hadn’t
visited me and my inner bubbles of personality,
casually planting and breeding my inner sanctum,
producing waves of fetuses born into casualties.
Lola, roamer of the night who walks the planks.
She lusts for thou roads of sinful behavior and
corrupt cynical matter. But, can you blame her?
Sin is addictive, tasteful, free and liberating with no
fluid ounce of remorse or reaction to a complex reality.
“Lola, Lola! Reign me before your juices run
out of me,” I say.
It was in that moment that my range of
sensitivity turned to a cold, bitter death.
My eyes now shunned towards a cobalt blue.
My lips, shriveled like dying flower petals and
tinted in a hot pink color.
I’m a victim of her loneliness and a pit stop
for her lustful desires to crawl and blossom.
There is no more in me to fight. No space
left for my arms to withhold the blows
hurled towards me. Her might and beauty
weakens the soles of my feet and tremor takes place.
My body is no more and I cannot sleep
for she allures me through the depths of the
sea and lullabies lying in the deep.
Thus, I am made with no soul to keep.