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My Cottage Slave

my cottage slave

I would run to you today
actually take off my heels and run barefooted on the filthy pavement to get to you

I am battered and bruised and tired of perverts
I am tired of the depraved
the soiled
the deprived
the living dead

something bad has happened and I feel like I am drowning
let’s close the door on the cottage with us inside

the front of the house; the rain can lash the windows
the back door we will leave open for it is a lovely sunny day
a cool breeze may replace the poisonous air that I have been breathing

you can lay naked on the cold stone floor
until I feel better and these feelings go away.

I see you twitch as there is a knock at the door
a hard assertive policeman’s knock

I tell you to leave it and not to worry
as I have set the hounds upon them and carried them back to hell

my cottage slave
wait for me
I will bring food and wine
clothes and firewood
books and music
sex and love

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About Prim Quim

I am an artist and therapist. I work within the themes of sexuality, repression, guilt, greed, contradiction, objectification, compulsion, itches that need to be scratched and bruises that need to be pressed. I am a consentual bruise presser, a boundary straddler and limit pusher. I interview people and witness their lives, I write about what I see, how I feel and all the beautiful fragments that make up my reality. I am the sum of all my parts - some bits move and other parts are static, some bits need oiling and other bits just run and run. I am both subject and object to myself. I am slave to my Art and so are the others who come into my sphere. I objectify and use, interrogate and examine - I need their reality and reasoning to lay alongside my own to compare, contrast, season and gorge upon. Exponent of automatic writing, compulsive self realisation and daring myself to go further.

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