Peter Marra

The Obscene Portfolio of an Abandoned Pornographic Film Starlet

poetry

 

 

Behavioral Dark Warning

 

“The sound of a cancerous warm breeze caressing the fragrant ebony hair of my pussy, motivates me to do the unnamable.”

 

she lay back spread her legs and smiled at the randomly populated theater.

 

“Can you pray?” she asked. “Can you die for me? Will you cry as I caress your silence? I’ll wrap it up and shove it right here.” She giggled as she made a motion towards her crotch. “It’s blistering hot in there. Take a look, a public cervix.”

 

She was afraid at this moment. The fun had become an organism, clearly infected.

 

Fever tears pulsated on her cheeks, shadow whisperers pointed their fingers. 

 

“You’ve been obscene again, a random whore! Watch the film, we got it all. Copied to the cloud; forever dispersed chasing you down.” She loved the hoopla. She adored the attention.

 

She was prouder now than she had ever been. “Who desires a rabid explosive Magadalene? You know you want it!” She was panting. Translucent shimmering fluid crawled slowly down her inner thighs, reflecting forgotten crucifixes.

 

 

 

Rat Honey Tells a Ribald Tale 

 

A street partnership resulted in a flesh encounter. A female delinquent spoke. She described how her male beast was a cock artist. “It lives inside my brain. A Twisted thing, it tells me its secrets – dirty and unclad it hides behind objects and silences. it satiates victims for amusement.”

 

Her labia were gently tinted with the colorings of the purple iris – moist, delicate, quivering. Her anus was a concentric gradation of delicate shades. She was aware of the narcotic draw these lower body parts possessed. Minutes to pleasure. “I’ll send you to fuck Persephone. She told me she wants it badly. She will chew you up and spit you out and leave you in a NYC Shanty Fuck House. Leave you to rot, you miserable fuck.”

 

Revenge against past transgressions was so sweet. Dark Madonna, Dark Madonna.

 

She paused to feel, then inspect her pussy, then continued. “I’ll give you the gift of a neon aneurism. A black & blue orgasm. You’ll pay me with your eyes and your hot breath.”

 

 

 

Butterflies with Teeth of Pain

 

She arrived on an exclusive jet flight from The Vatican. She was accompanied on the moving sidewalk by her companions, two leather clad nuns, seductive females in their thirties. Not easy to categorize this diabolical trio. Three neglected outcasts – two pious, 1 sectarian. All were delectably evil. They were dedicated to the study of power and pain.

 

At the airport entrance they stopped for a moment, exchanging anxious glances. Waiting for the sign. A taxi exploded. This was followed by intense screaming from the driver and its occupants. The searing of flesh delighted their nostrils. The sisters fingered themselves under their habits. She took photos with her iPhone.

 

 

 

Synthetic Love & A Carousel of Suspects

La Peste; j'ai peur.

 

Pretty candy-colored explosions in each rivulet of her brain. White hot / open her up. silently, the hypo fell to the linoleum disrupting the blood blossom in the barrel; the record skipped a beat. “Long Tall Sally” – her most favorite. From a darkness a few words: “How do you like to fuck?” 

 

The sledgehammer was raised. Her arm trembled as she brought it down with electrified cruelty, driving the iron spike into the right hand. She detected the tones of pierced flesh and splintering bone, marveling at the minimal blood flow. “Black and blue. Black and blue.” She repeated this phrase 70 times. Neon twats. Time for some more. She had decided to stay.

 

This lasted two seconds longer than the subliminal suggestion of the Black Dahlia kissing a postcard of the HOLLYWOOD sign.

 

 

 

A Prevue of Coming Attractions

 

Zig-zag trip – her phantasmagorical erotica. Crimson fingernail attached to albino digit sliced the belly flesh open. And she smiled, but the sound was fluttering in reverse – nuclear hot wind whipping her ebony hair.

 

Cinematheque de Sang: free admission. Her teeth burned; the tongue was coated with a ferrous substance. A ferox female clothed in gossamer and crotchless hosiery appeared on stage at the AVON 7. Now she was ready to entertain. 

 

The net had reached out and trapped her legs, arms and still beating heart. She moaned for a while, then decided to re-do her eye makeup: black eye shadow, mascara and eyeliner; lashes razor sharp and inviting. She never wore lipstick because she felt it detracted the attention from her eyes. “I can’t stand the bright lights. I am the female of your dreams. You are the horror of my love.”