Friday, November 29, 2013

I've Been Eating (For You.)

Wednesday, Saturday, Sunday, and all the moments in between in which you find something for the two of you to swallow, your night ends in a sickly entanglement with the body of a nine year old boy.

Passing with a smirk, a desperate cry for attention and approval, yearning, a scream for help, but I can not silence such discomfort. Long ago have I tried to invent some sort of humanity for you, but your behavior leaves you completely unlovable. So damaged you remain, boys pass you around like a basketball, as Lana's "Carmen" churns in the broken record of my mind.

Perhaps an effort for power or mere terror in its purest form that serves as your inspiration, I'm so lost as to why you think you've gained something. Should I congratulate you on your meaningless drunk sex with an asshole? What's it like to be so sexually insecure that the contents of your veins must be diluted with liquor before your party dress cascades to the floor? So when you blow a .27, do you still swallow?

Standing in front of a mirror, your true self emerges: a shallow puddle containing just enough water to dribble what it is you are:

vap·id
adjective 1. offering nothing that is stimulating or challenging.

Perhaps you've found your match.

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