he raped her to the tune of I Used To Love H.E.R... she killed him while singing her Womansong... and he found out too late that she is not his "doormat", his "sugar tit", his "in house supply of bliss", his "own personal *** to kick..." say my name ...say my name... name me eve... gasping ...gasping, she finds her vagina gasping for clean intakes of clarity from the semen serenade syrup that suffocates her and gives her lungs the feeling that 6 feet of soil is above her. her spanish harlem sketches of virginity are now open for public viewing. her paintings of past rapes murals her face until a kaleidscope of wrong-doings makes the viewer go veritgo & spin from her ghost-stenches of too many takings of what he wants without asking her. in her eve of destruction where she bites from the tree of dreams & blacks out when its his turn to swarm her with devestation. she is born from eve of destruction, daughter of God who never listened when Daddy told her that devils lurk outside the Gates, never took His word to be more than mountain-top sermons, never seeked sanctuary in His arms, but rather in his arms where track marks begin & where uninviting fingers end... she sometimes hums jazz solos & stands on stage in night/gown fashions, in her dreams while he masquerades as lover in rapist tactics. he is the atom of her eve's destruction, exploding her insides & putting her now radioactive soul through half-life. she knows no silence, just the not-so-gentle tapping at her womb-chamber door. just the not-so-sweet rappings in her ear that calls her "whore". "nevermore" quotes her eve, dry from his lack of love, dry with the barren desert taste that desires vaginal wall lotion, no...she will not be wet for atom. in spanish harlem, she's learned to stop screaming & have the audacity to yell for help ...neighbors walk by, heads shake in ephemeral discontent, but no tangible actions, no dial 911, no prince charming of the ghetto to bum rush the apartment door & slay atom's dragon, no ...damsel in this stress must find her own way out. she recalls the time when he brought purple-dipped-at-the-tip white roses & placed them next to her EKG monitor, adjusting the adhesive on her hospital bracelet, thinking he could muster up enough rotten cotton candy sayings & deep-down-guilt to absolve him from the unpleasantness of putting eve in intensive care...to absolve her from pressing charges... and it worked... you are what you eat, and she digested his lies & indeed began to lie that "he just expresses his love differently." but her lies only worked in AM mirror sessions before work it only held up on the bus watching couples make out it only convinced her when he was temporarily ill with guilt ...but the disease always passed... it always brought his true fury out stronger, the rapings always ended up more humiliating and equally inhumane and her lies spewed from her eyes running down spanish harlem cheeks that contain abestos acquired from his salvia-uncontrollable kisses. in the eve of her destruction, where she aborted 2 children and where it used to be soft enough to body-rock a true & willing lover to sleep, where she wanted to save her hyman for a better man, where she wanted her ****oris to swell for a tongue that performed cunninlingus & not for teeth that perforated her womanness until the rusty taste of below-the-belt blood satiated his thrist... it is in her eve of destruction where atom finally explodes his load in weak penis pushes & quakes of satisfaction in her dryness ...calling her "****" as he doses off to some far off afrikan land where he could've been great. in his afrika wonderland of many willing wives & laziness in abundance, on a hammock lying on his belly the wind caressing his backside & he smiles as the breeze pleases his inner/content with himself, and he falls asleep on the hammock he drops his arm off the hammock & grazes the grass with his fingertips he feels water rushing down his back & down his arm & on the grass, he opens his eyes to see pools of blood streaking down his forearm, down his shoulder, all the way to the gash in his back ...atom in his wonderland looks back to see eve's destruction plunging knife-wounds in his spine, twisting the dirty kitchen blade counterclockwise to rewind the time she met him, past the time when she trusted him, and back to the time when God-Daddy loved her so. gasping ...gasping, atom is gasping for a clean intake of life as death rots his backwound. he screams & declares his audacity to yell for help, but neighbors watch prime-time in their disconnected realities, no knocks on the door, no detective running in & placing her under arrest no... leaving the knife in his back, she walks to the stereo & plays her favorite artist. walking back to atom, she kisses his forehead, whispers "****" in his ear & with the gentle tapping at his knife-size sore, she takes one last twist of the blade & his cries she ignores and in sync with her favorite artist, she & ursula rucker quote evermore... "No...eve-il does not derive from my name....No, evil does not derive from my name..." say my name... say my name... say my name... ?