PACEMAKER

Caning
cut crimson.
Shattering
sharp strikes.
Wounding
wild women
of the streets
I strip all of them of their innocence.
Revealing
rotten rogues.
Trying
trails tripled.
Badly
because bold
little boys like me dipped fingers.
Into
innuendoes ill.
Places
peeling partly
apart legs for
wanton
wills wronged,
cultivating feminine genocide for love.



While on your back, you can only look upwards.


Pacemaker by Shazza Nakim
Copyright © by Peace of Mind Publishings and with permission by Shazza Nakim