stream of consciousness about the first guy i ever slept with
|B&B bathroom with the shower running. My head hits the wall over and over and over and you don’t care. You don’t notice. Pull my hair as hard as you can and take it as a compliment when I scream. Your dad hears everything.
It’s alright, nothing matters. Get chlamydia on Monday and it’s gone by Thursday night because nothing’s real. If I forget a pill call me angel maker, won’t look back, won’t tell my best friends. Some things you should keep to yourself. Maybe I’m ashamed that I don’t fuck like I promised I would. She fucks by our rule book, to a T, unless she is a liar like me.
I can see my underwear on the floor through bleary eyes. I’m scared I’ll cry if I cum. Another broken rule, but nobody needs to know. Nothing matters anyway. So what if I hate my body because by Valentine’s Day nobody will have seen it.
Life is so fucking short and the walk home from your house, legs shakier than a kid with stage fright, is cold and crisp and makes me feel like I’m alive. My life is the Truman show and they’ve jumped the shark. I could count the stars if I stopped crying. The moon was in the east last time I blinked and now it’s right on top of me, swimming and watery.
Sixteen times. Is it strange to keep count?