melania’s white house christmas decorations

by Allister Nelson

It’s the little lies we tell ourselves in marriage:

No, Lucifer. I’m a good wife. Your cock is big. You’re a good fuck.

Yes, of course I came. Yes, I homemade the herb butter for the steak.

Of course you bought top quality meat. We do not live in a shanty.

The wallpaper is not yellowed, old, pissed-colored newspaper.

The old, staticky 50s TV is not on chthonic rerun, always playing muted hauntings.

Yes, you’re a good demon, no, you didn’t steal my soul before I could even say no.

No, you never raped me. Yes, I wanted it. Who wouldn’t want a maidenhead

broken

by such a knife, by such a mace, by such a cock. Yes, you are gentle, yes, I repent

to,

no, I did not kiss Christ behind your back, did not hear you cry out: Bereshit

Elohai Yis’rael!

Bereshit Elohai Avraham! Bereshit Elohai Adonai! Then snort coke and whip

yourself naked,

raw and bloody and sobbing, high as a kite, in turgid devotion, cock skyward, with

molding

goat leathers you stole from my own personal collection of Iron Maidens, splinters

of olive,

and iron Crucifix nails.

We both have

such decorous

wounds, you know.

And if you stole my innocence, well,

at least a tradwife

haunts you.

Click here to read Allister’s bio.