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The meal      I last ate rests low in             my belly. I hear the drone of his fluorescent lights. His frigid bathroom tiles  indent my knees. I hold back my own hair, and I crouch         in front of his toilet, my altar.  My altar.       I think, this is my altar and              I worship by             sliding two fingers down          my own   throat.         He kneels next to        me, gazes at        me.    He always swarms like    a gnat on spoilt      meat to     watch me worship. I study our reflection in the water below.    He rubs           spheres into    my back.      I                vomit till I’m              hollow.

 

Now, I’ve     brushed my teeth and we           are fucking.             Once, he said       he likes to      fuck me     when I am             hollowed because  I have more space for compassion and his         penis goes                  farther up my                 cunt. I know he’s worried one day          I’ll                         discuss this with strangers            on the internet.            

 

Now,                       we are finished     fucking and   his penis softens, wilts.              He exits me, and when he turns over I       watch his prism      shoulder blades rise and fall, bones    straining the           skin. I don’t sleep.        I lie    there and    wait     for the sun.             I lie there

and wait                 for       the next         heaving.

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