white handkerchiefs with
stains that she and i don’t talk about anymore
but it’s an implied
secret that we smile about occasionally.
brick stacked
upon broken brick
upon glass bottles
black. naked.
silhouettes lightly touch
before evaporating
moans escape as
a gaseous existence
timed to the slight keyboard sounds
of the surf organ sleaze
she wanted to cry in joy again
we gave each other fantasy and
a criticism construction
built slowly that collapsed
forever hers
forever mine
back to whispers
back to silence
about the documents
entitled the standards of care
as a symbol to her
the other species found the problem
her legs squeezed together
her nerves removed
her sinews dissected
heart set aflame and
sacrificed to the sun god
as she was disturbed
by the naked walls
as she was disturbed
by the non-stop sounds
constantly arousing her
then ending when she slid free
her hands free
then she stung
a serious tone as
she was sucked by the institute into
a black waltz
that left him watching
eyes surrounded
by pearls
fucked by the color spectrum
with blue as she permitted
her tics grew steadily
as she feasted on flesh
from the physicians that slowly
castrated themselves as she
dined
waiting for the surgeon as she squeezed
then rubbed her face across the danger
as the exhaust kicked into overdrive
“your screen is blank”
By Peter Marra
The Carnage Conservatory 
Thanks Emily!
A response is not often better a second go around but perhaps I’ll get lucky.
Actually, it’s great because I’ve gotten a chance to read this now for the 6th time (perhaps 7).
White Handkerchiefs
….again a slight departure from your other works. This one is more slick and steel. The sensuality is not there but the flow is and wrapped in an unwinding poetic story.
I get a personal, deeply personal revealing of a twisted, sociopathic connection.
What is remarkable is your ability to draw the reader into what would generally be an undesirable place to visit and we (I) am brought in and even in the dark, and it is dark, there is a love.
Love is love, even distorted.
The secret seems impossible to dissect by ‘normal’ means and standards. The madness keeps its colour (I prefer that spelling).
“your screen is blank” … to me that’s apathy….a non-pulsed manner – for those who live in their mad world, what we can not decipher and only they can see, and when fortunate, with a partner.
I am drawn to this piece, there is an ugly reality but such a beauty – a dual thrust.
Thank you Leslie. As usual your insight is wonderful! It means a lot to me whenever you review my pieces.
I love this poem so much, every time I read it I get a sense of being in an old black and white horror film. Thanks for writing for us Peter!
It’s a great pleasure to write for your publication. I’m so glad you love it!
I like the old black and white films because they’re so close to the feel of nightmares.
You ought to take part in a contest for one of the best sites on the internet.
I will recommend this website!
I’d like to thank you for the efforts you’ve put in penning this site.
I am hoping to see the same high-grade blog posts from you in the future
as well. In fact, your creative writing abilities
has encouraged me to get my own, personal blog now 😉