A Proud Whore

She holds the vomit of the world in her mouth,
her words speak of ego,
and her tongue is like a razor,
slashing everything about.
She claws her rotten nails on fresh flesh,
ripping it and tearing it at all ends,
and she feeds upon her putrid self,
for she is her own faith, her own church.
She swims in a sea of self adoration,
invaded by the stench of her hideous repudiation,
which tears her wicked waned face,
burning her within,
almost vanquishing her fate.
She is the whore of her own life,
which virginity has long ago been raped
by the vomit of her words,
and the decomposed blood
that spills out of her slit wrists.
She is the one in her universe,
swallowed by decadence,
which again spits her out
to be consumed by all that is grotesque,
by her own vermin sentinels.
She nestles flies, maggots and worms within,
for this is her spit, this is her skin,
this is all the gutter that compounds her everything.
She is a proud whore bathed in her own vomit, shit and stench,
and she is within her own phantasmagorical ego-church
and a place not to be visited is between her legs

RQ
Moscow
11/6/2010