I Shaved My Balls For You

31 Aug

spike buffy

I Shaved My Balls For You

 

I shaved

my balls for you

 

I don’t know why

because you were already

gone, but I shaved my balls

 

Not with a razor

but with the nervous terror

that comes with all these years

of whatever this is

and loss

 

I shaved my balls

so smooth

you could build a haunted house on them

if you wanted to

 

but upon doing so

the house would just:

slip off

 

and while clinging to gravity

crumble

into a pile of balls-touched timber

and homeless ghosts

 

So please don’t build a house on my nuts, darlin’

because I just shaved them

and they’re too goddamn sensitive

and slippery

and why would you want to do something

like that anyway?

 

If you build a house on my nuts

you’d have to live there

and you don’t want to live there

 

You want to live elsewhere,

where everyone sweats ice tea

and wears underpants

and lives in cute houses not built

beneath their ex-person-they-used -to

love’s dicks

 

Which seems weird (to me)

[slight pause] that you live there, but

that’s where you live so:

 

ok [while looking left, to move on]

 

I don’t live there though, obviously

I live over here,

with great white shark ice sculptures

and a front row view of the vacant

lot that is my nuts

 

maybe I should plant flowers there

and watch them die because nobody waters them

like Sinead O’Conner does in that Prince song or

Taylor Swift sings about in that one song of hers

where she borrows a line about flowers from Prince

 

Shit

that reminds me, tonight:

Prince is dead!

Gene Wilder just died!

 

and I shaved my balls for you!

for some melodramatic/goddamn reason

 

Ha!

 

and when it was over

and all the tiny hairs had been vanquished

to the solitary confinement

of the bathroom floor, for a couple of seconds

 

I thought about calling you, but didn’t

because: fuck phones

ergo: instead of doing that

 

I figured it was time to start

re-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer again

and walked off towards the sunset living room

 

as the neighbor’s heavy dogs

roared

their Donald Trump guts out

 

and the lamp beside my futon burst

into tears

that looked like

pummeled light

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: