on masturbation, porn-induced kink, & voyeurism. an attempt to capture the space where these artifacts intersect. written aug 1st 2025.

all i want is to be beautiful & twilight finds me gasping my own name in a damp breath of warmth. i am content with my solitude, disquieted by my silence. i dream of the stage and its audience, the voyeur in the window, the momentary weight of a passerby’s fleeting glance. i give myself a taste of god with the tips of my fingers because i have never needed anyone & i never will again.

the brother that i do not have keeps a gun under his pillow, & i have touched it before. when i pour him a drink, it spills sticky and warm between our hands. i know that i am being watched, then. we meet in confessional, in the midnight hum of a fluorescent-lit kitchen, on opposite sides of a tv screen full of static. when i am bedridden, it will be because of him. when he pulls the trigger, it will be for me.

there are ears in the walls, eyes in our hands, & i have never felt less seen, more known. i cradle the fire in my hands at night and stare into it until i am blind with its light. if i am on sale, it is because i allowed it to happen for the relief of recognition. when i come, it is with closed eyes and an opened mouth and a hand outstretched, reaching for the flames, and when i go, it is in the hollow aftermath, panting into soft cotton and the buzzing ache that remains.

look at me longer. what will it take for you to watch? what will it take for me to stay?