I haven’t asked
them to do anything. 33 odd years of on and
off art and music and bullshit and this proves to be my only masterpiece. Porn Bollocks
to them. I am not that selfish. I was occupying myself with music and porn and glue. She begged to be let
go, she was panicking, she was begging. It was a usual
maelstrom of faces and clothes and breasts and furry eyebrows and nostrils
hungry for yet another white line, gold chains and silver rings, smiles and
seductive gazes. Her scream is half-muted this time, because there is no
surprise, just pain. Her
lips around the gag, dark and smeared with sperm. She has changed me. And she never asked about those photos, the good girl. She needed more. I point this out as if it wasn’t obvious, but
Clarissa closes
