My Fate/This Appetite

My mouth is not designed for air

or things as silly as food.

It is designed to beg, plead, swallow every lie,

Every pretty word thrust further and further into my guts until it is part of me too,

Just another of my own beliefs, the rest thrust to the side,

behind my liver,

by this intruder’s indiscriminate spray.

It coats my insides,

Sickly sweet, sometimes too bitter and salty to keep down when it’s not plugged inside.

After, my throat must learn to accept only oxygen once again.

Only,

oxygen feels like failure when he is standing over me,

dripping,

twitching,

waiting for this warm, wet orifice to open once more so that he may relieve himself of his frustrations.

Those tears are just so much lube.

Pleas are successfully silenced.

What words could possibly matter more than his need?

Until the very end my lips open wide for those that would endanger me otherwise,

Drooling-

a vacant brain,

Loving-

despite never having known what such a feeling feels like.

What worth is there in a body when it isn’t useable?

What use is there when these lips are locked shut?

Life is performance and competition.

The worst?

The best?

They’re the same.

One, a savior from obsoletion,

The other an enternal charade.