Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Chester the Molester

is touch, a hallucination that set me back in therapy.
My flustered features and my dead gray eyes,
No wonder he threw me out of his car.

Abrupt with the poison of sex,
The doubt leaves me and I'm safe from the music
Of a hateful ape.

I'm not his rose, just some hitchhiking moron.

My mind shuts down, a labyrinth of fear overtakes me
And I remember nothing but the iridescence of rage.

I am not a victim.
I am not a victim.
I have security in words,
He cannot touch me here but
Through memory, he touches me all the time.

Pale white, snow white, existence being bled from me.
A failed adventure I couldn't take.
A feather blowing in the wind, superlative breezes
Torturing love out of my heart.
My interest in love has died,
And with it, the melody of lust.

It was my fault, his bitter, dry hands...
I reject...deject...forget...but remember every time.
My skin begins to itch and annoy.

His talent resides in his pants,
A percussion of disgust paints my face.
I'm hopeless in that I couldn't ask for help but
Instead let him call all the shots, even the
Ones that didn't happen.

Just a dumb girl. Taking rides from strangers.
No wonder he kicked me out of his car
And sped away like I was toxic.

3-28-11


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Chester the Molester

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