You sit there in slicing silence
With that vague barely breathing confidence
That you're so proud of
And you cut me to the core.
I ponder the intricate workings of your mind
While crunching ice between my teeth
And you wait.
You wait for me to make the move
So that you can slap me and rape me and call me the whore.
Well, I won't be your whore.
Not this time.

*copyright 1999

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