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Rape Doll
Used thrift-store
play thing, empty
staring through round,
brown button eyes,
hot glued and blind,
with dry fibrous skin
chafing without spit,
like my unbendable
appendages against
the stained shag carpet,
as fresh orifices form
from cigarette burns,
indecently exposing my
pure-white cotton insides.
But hiding behind
this stitched smile
of repressed denial,
leads me nowhere
except this washing
machine bleeding
bottles of bleach,
just to be tossed
in the vacant corner
when it’s all over.
Chris Butler is currently a 23 year-old trapped in Danielson,
CT, and a recent graduated of Eastern Connecticut State
University. His poetry has been published across the grand ole
U.S. of A., Western Europe and the Far East.
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