The Ring Ring

Cindy and Candy.
Perfect twins, and they’re perfect.
They don’t come cheap.
But they’re worth every dollar.
And worth the three month waiting list.
“Candy has the clit ring,” says one girl.
She must be Cindy.
And we begin.
Seven hours later, I can’t remember who is who.
Or anything else.
Everything hurts. It hurts so good.
So good.
I can barely walk to the shower.
Their smell, the stickiness.
The blood.
I watch the drain.
A year from now, some guy murders the twins.
He takes the ring as a souvenir.
The cops never mind him.
Or the ring.

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