I pulled it
out.
By then it
scarcely hurt.
I winced just a
little as I tore
sickly arteries
apart.
I would not use
it anymore.
Had no need for
this one with
its thrumming
dance,
no more space
for its pathetic concuss,
that ushered a
red serenade
through its
chambers.
Why did Venus
do this?
I'll feed it to
the fish, I thought.
They'll eat it
before it hits bottom,
before she
finds it.
I can't be
bothered with the thing, I said,
flexing my arm,
testing until I was satisfied
it could bear
the weight.
Sensing the
end,
my heart surged
unforgivably hot.
It leaped and
pounded, gurgled and ran
so badly that I
silenced it with my sopping shirt,
hastily dropped
it in a plastic bag,
setting out
heedless
to the fact
that
I could be seen
through,
laughed at,
humiliated all
over again.
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