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I am yours truly, ripe and unruly

Blood, black, blitz, fact

Striding in gloriously on the back of illusion

Bolted tightly down with the nails of confusion

Pull me down, sweep me up and rip out all that I have

Bloody your face with it and I will smile

Drag me through the wet dirt mile by mile and I am happily muddied

By the chest pounding, stomach fluttering, heart aching emotion

Not to be termed quite as love but riding close enough

By the authentic emotion for me to feign vexation

But, now, here you stand threatening me with sensible notions of

Health and purpose and I spit on them and dismiss them without thought

Warning you, retreat and cease testing the boundaries of dysfunction

Marked by you in the quick sand with your spiked whip

Else chancing you not survive the inquisition

For all the untamed angst and slippery lust and beastly passion

Once laid down for you could be provoked to rise up against you

The cross that finally drives you into the ground

For today and forever I am yours truly

Extremely ripe, ripped, damaged, blasphemous

And very, very unruly.

JeanNicole Rivers