pixabay photo
By
Alex Brown
Carcass
carcass strewn from a hook
skin once fleshy and pink
a boy who was to become a man
stripped of growth
by stranger’s hands
careless prey
wearing those shorts
mother picked for me
unable to stay composed
catching a glimpse of my
tighty whities
spider-man on the front
my favorite pair
slipped his hand in them
boyhood cupped
whispers of intent
“I want your little boy meat”
drool marinated flesh
seasoned in spit
did not go in dry
so considerate gutted still
no cries for saviors
slobber upon the lobe
“good boy” I was awarded
do as adults say they said
carved the soul
from my bones
drank up my sinew
like stew
a boy no more
skewered with affection
poached of innocence
emptied by sin
nothing left of fleshy pink skin
no more boy eager for pretend
just a carcass left rotting
Alex Brown
I was born right outside of Atlanta, Ga. Spent my youth coming up with any excuse to visit the city, fascinated by the many different ways people lived their lives. It was on the streets of Midtown that I found myself among the queer community. As a gay man in his thirties I use poetry as a way to deal with inner thoughts and turmoils. Currently sober after many years actively using opiods, When I’m not writing or working my recovery, I’m sipping on a coffee trying not to let the many Netflix options overwhelm me.