excerpt from a book i’ll never write #42

Maybe if our mouths spent more time unraveling each other’s minds instead of learning each other’s bodies we’d be more than this.


excerpt from a book i’ll never write #40

I do not want to be human. I want to be myself, and they expect me to be a lion to chase you to the ends of the world. I will not deny that I have lion in me, for I am made of the same elements as they are, but I have parts of myself that I do not understand; and the rest is rust and stardust.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #39

I try so hard to forget.

I try to forget how your lips felt on mine, slimy and with only with drunk passion; your breath of alcohol and desperation. I try to forget your hands on my waist gripping me closer, and I try to forget how your hands felt wrapped in my hair because I never wanted them there to begin with. I try to forget your hands pushing on my head towards the floor and the words that slithered out of your mouth like your tongue sliding into mine. But no matter how hard I try I can’t forget the fear. I try to forget the push of the sharp counter on my back and the cold cement on my knees. I try to forget you. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget how you made me feel so out of control of my own body. And ever since that night I haven’t felt in control of anything. I was a person who had trust in everyone and you took that away from me, and I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that even though I forgave you for what you did. I just want to feel like my life is not spiraling down to a pit of nothing because this summer is moving as fast as your hands sliding down my pants before I could stop them. I try to forget, but I can’t make it go away. It was your fault, no matter how much you made it feel like it was mine.

excerpt from a book i’ll never write #38

I’ve been really sad lately and I’m not too sure where it’s coming from, but I know the last time I felt alive was when I was between the sheets with you gripping my waist and the last time I felt like dying was when I was on my knees for him holding my head. And I just hate that people make me feel so euphoric and disheartened all at the same time. I realized I give so much kindness to others that I don’t even have any left for myself but I dish out smiles like cigarettes on a crisp and cold summer night because I think that maybe a smile will make me feel a little more alive but I get better results with the sting of vodka sliding down my throat chased with your tongue and my hair laced with your fingers, but you only feel alive enough for that with vodka sliding down your throat first.