Sex During Surgery – Malicia Frost

I made a joke
of pretending to be injured
when actually I was only transparent
the light shining through me
revealing the unforgiving truth;
“you can be better”

but with his latex-clad hands wriggling against my uterine wall
it is so hard to stay anesthetized
all I can do is hold my breath
and pray for release

the source of my problem was an overactive imagination
he swore to remove carefully
“Everything must be kept sterile” he said
while using a rusty pair of pliers
to extract the last pieces of woman from me

It shouldn’t have been me
I cry into the piercing light of the fluorescent
I only wished to be reborn as a more complex being
freed from the prison of fertility and lust
this kind of love
that will leave you naked and ripped open
in a cheap motel bed at 5 in the morning

His are hands that take and take
and I’m the giver that produces
the weeping mother of aborted dreams
I don’t want to sleep with a meat cleaver tucked in between my thighs
and wake up just in time for the slaughter

Am I too alive for you,
my aseptic lover?
Will you need me sedated,
a twitching sack of flesh underneath your blackened fingers?
It doesn’t matter that I’m dreaming of someone else
Blood gushing from mutilated genitals,
my eyes go dim as you pull the mask over my nose
(sooner or later I’ll have to breathe)

 

[Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her personal blog.]

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Literary Collective

37 thoughts on “Sex During Surgery – Malicia Frost”

      2. I don’t even know how to respond to such a beautiful comment. Thank you. ❤ Oh and I read your renewed piece on your page, and I'm blown away. Would you be okay with it if I shared it on my blog at some point, along with a response? I feel like I want to acknowledge it properly. It's by far the most beautiful thing anyone's ever written for me.

        Liked by 1 person

  13. You never cease to awe me with the visceral punch you can conjure out of mere words. The images seared on the back of my eyeballs, acid etch of the letters on my skin, my heart pounding hard. “I don’t want to sleep with a meat cleaver tucked in between my thighs/and wake up just in time for the slaughter” Damn.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. My dear friend, I’m always astounded by your support. Thank you so much for the kindness and for reblogging this! I was quite fond of the slaughter line myself, too. Teheh. And wow, the imagery of your comment has the quality of a poem in itself! Such a pleasure to read. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

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