The fucking, the candle,
me pushing for more,
putting on his sandals
and walking out the door.
I came onto set,
ended up in his bedroom.
Alone with a cigarette
thinking I’ll see my love soon.
I know how this happened—
because I’m weak.
I need to wash this off and have this end,
He and I were at our peak.
I’m perverted and sick,
forgot how to care.
Nothing ever sticks,
and I made myself a dare.
Each someone’s son,
not to be chased after.
I don’t dream of anyone.
I dream of disaster.
Being treated like a queen,
like a doll with strong morals,
but I’ll replay this scene
’til the bright becomes dull.
My record was clean before I lost control.
I ran around and lost myself,
just to keep from getting cold.
Her eyes are heavy from alcohol and drugs.
She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me,
knows I’ll be gone, both of us cold again soon.
The lace covering her body is a perk.
New Orleans ladies have outdone it again,
Climbing me, moaning. Shaking from cold, pleasure.
More time in December, February, March.
Holding her hand, not afraid to let it go.
It’s all the same to me. Accompanied… not.
But then, all that he seemed was awe-inspir’ng—
eyes unimaginable, curly brown hair.
Now loneliness replaced with longing, pining.
How do I manage to relinquish my time
so fearlessly to new coy lovers each month?
After all the aching, always fall in line.
These old boys, these young men, remember just each
feeling of pulling up skirt, lifting my shirt.
Masturbating to a memory, a peach.
Nicholas makes me want to be more, is more.
House clean, skin smooth, my mind wandering to him.
Eyes dim with sickness, my inner thighs still sore.
Grow out your fake nails,
burn out your lights, masturbate,
cut your hair, eat cake
I took a half a tranxene to stop myself
from binging and picking my skin, and my jaw
is still clenched. December… that’s a ways from now.
I’m trying to lose weight, but have to stop
getting shit-faced from drug interactions,
expensive mixed drinks, and weed chocolate.
I checked out orthopedic surgeon’s tinder
for another look at the face I’d seen twice,
hazy in mind. A part of his bio changed.
“I don’t usually do this either,”
I replayed in my mind, then imagined
Tinder, Philadelphia. “6’5,” he wrote.