Her friends call her the Daddy Fucker with her small frame and delicate cheek bones. The wistful smile below wide eyes. Her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, gym socks above her knees. With a proclivity for older men. The blood stirs with the way she breezes through. They want her. She knows how the world works. In her twenties and she looks like a teen. Bi-sexual and insatiable she was the forbidden dream of the modern man…
and they never told her that affection and sex were seperable. The first man had never been around. He was the first to teach her the strength of absence. The next man taught her to suck and root and swallow. The third taught her the cruelty of inadequecy and how to beg for love. The last beat her. He taught her to be broken.
She shows them, in her fuckables, the vulnerabilty to make their cocks throb. So they’ll reach out and pull her in. She is what they made her and they made her because of what she is.
At night, all alone, she stares at the wall. All out of tears to get her to sleep.
Once they called her slut, whore and jail bait and they served her on a silver platter…
the virgin sacrifice
I would marry this man
guys we broke another post because this one’s not showing any notes
Best way to get a camera back ever.
I agree with that other person - I would marry this man. Maybe we can come to some time share arrangement or something?
She sat on the bus, two rows ahead of me. The same dark hair with its whispy fringe and bouncy pony tail. The cardigan soft and grey held over a pop culture reference.
But its been three years. The fringe and the pony tail are gone. The cardigan has probably been worn through and replaced. After all those words we spat. After all the things we did to hurt each other. I’d still sell my soul to touch her again. To smell her perfume mingling on her skin with those menthol cigarettes. To make her smile, so that I can trace those dimples she hates.
I hear she’s happy all those hours away from here. That her lawyer boyfriend is successful. That my life has moved on and away from them.
So what am I doing still writing these words for her.
Danger lurks over head. Nawing from the inside out. The blanket doesn’t hide me. The lanterns only stay the hand for so long. The demons’ eyes will adjust and it won’t burn their skin much longer. I can feel the circle tightening. The boundaries between me and them are fading. But for tonight, or is it morning by now, I’ve won. Well at very least I haven’t lost…