Parasites

I have this innate need to use people. I use you. You use me. We're parasites.

So, I show up like always. I don't know why I do. Wheres the excitement?

You're really fake. I like that. I'm really fake. I like that too.

We held hands. That was fake. We cuddled. That was fake.

I love your penis, and that is not fake. We wasted time and then got to business. It was cold, but the steam from our bodies masked any frigid movement. It was fluid and my breath was heavy. This is why I show up. I dont want to make small talk. I dont want to watch t.v. I don't want to act like this is anything other than what it is. This is a thing. It's not a love thing, but just a thing. When people ask I say I've got this thing. This thing is real unlike what trying to love someone would be like.

I don't like you much anymore. Really, I just like the sex.

Lazily we begin to collide. I go down on you, which is in some way one of the hottest things we do. But, you're like most boys who think it's necessary to push on my head. Give me a minute and I'll get to that. We both deserve some pleasure out of this and I think physically TRYING TO MAKE ME GAG for the sake of getting yourself off is a bit more than selfish. You tease me and kiss my stomach. You resist the 'temptation' of going down on me. I dont know what you're scared of. There is no monster living inside and its not like I've got a birdsnest on top either. But, you proceed to pleasure me in other ways.

You make some obscure statements. You tend to envision yourself in a porn. I guess that's normal.

I pace myself like any other girl. I like to finish with you. You always warn me, but i'm never really ready.

Then, we walk down the street like i'm carrying a baby. Together we fucking walk down the street as if we fucking have a child. How fucking ironic and fucking disgusting is that.

dirty

I stole this idea from a guy on a stool preaching to me about how my heart was too dirty and weak for God.

I think you managed to do it. To make me small and pathetic. To make the worst in me ll that seems to be left. You tore me apart but never sewed me back together. You tossed me around like a tumbler or a dog toy.

But, I have moving vessels. I have blood and bones and skin. I create heat. I am anything but a toy. But, who am I to tell you that?

The girl with a dirty heart.

pathetic

fuck, i think i hate you.

i think i'm disgusted. i've started to feel it fill me up. it's coming fast and it's unexpected. i wish i could reverse it. i think i've got to say goodbye. spending time with you is like reading the newspaper and eating stale bread. Neither makes sense or is pleasing. my sex drive has exploded and you aren't there to eat it up. I'm losing interest while you're gaining.

this is a crash course. there can't be a happy ending.

fuck, i think i hate you.

Ring, please.

You can't.

I guess I get that.

I don't.

You can't get it.

I don't get that.

You give up. I give in.

I want you tonight.

I think this is helpless, and we're hopeless.

I just hope my phone rings tonight.

Monsters

'There's a monster, great.'

'Yea, apparently it's afraid to approach the high room.'

I think the best times in my life are those spent taking a glorious hit from a bong. Green hit, pass, pass, green hit, pass, pass. I thuroughly enjoy all the tar it cakes onto my lungs. I thuroughly enjoy falling asleep to a wandering mind more vivid than my own.

Cheers

I keep waking up with these killer headaches. I can't figure out what from. I'm getting good sleep, not drinking much these days, have a supply of good pot, regular sex fixes, and take a vitamin in the morning. WTF. It makes me think about what I used to drink beer after beer and take shot after shot and wake up the next morning like I never ingested any alcohol. Now, hangovers haunt me.

I read over my last post and felt a rush. Thinking about what we do makes me feel naughty. Makes the child in me feel rotten. But, rotten like a cavity caused by too much candy sort of rotten.

I think a lot about the BEST NIGHT EVER. We sang karaoke, which i did terribly at. I handed the mic to you at the sound of Prince. I refused to sing that. You were my drinking buddy. I decided that after you requested for one I'd be your girl. I loved to drink. I loved to get to flirt with cuties when i was drinking. I was drunk. Drunker than piss. We spent most of the night outside where it was chilly. I wore your big jacket and sat on traffic cones. Apparently drunk girls find that shit cute.

Jade was with a cute boy. There was something ravishing between the two of them. I wasn't really interested in you. I wanted someone who refused to fuck me. It was a joke to me. I knew eventually I could have him, but I was done trying. We rode together in the backseat and I sang as loud as ever. You found a taco bell hot sauce packet. It said "Will you marry me?" on it. You proposed. I accepted. We were engaged.

We got to the second house. The first house was a bust, nothing fun about it. The second house was the one with a keg and a microphone. We spent a lot of time outside talking about relationships, religion, and the government. I was hounded by boys. I didn't really know who to choose. I ended up wanting you. Jade left and I wasn't upset about it. I was alone with you. We were drunk as shit and drinking nasty ice like it was chocolate milk. We were kids. I forgot about the other boy/boys. You were all I wanted.

You'd asked permission to take me home with you. It was sweet. It was a gentleman gesture. I figured out later that was not you. Well, it was you. It was the you that you later refused to show me.

I was in love with your car. I could have sworn it was a BMW, but you corrected me. Your ignition was oddly placed and it excited me. It entertained me to no end.

Don't pull out the keys haha. Wait until we get to my house.
haha I seriously can't believe it's like in your console.

I was seriously inebriated. I'm sure I made some sort of massive fool of myself. But, you were hunched over the wheel and we were both too past being able to drive. You looked like a 90 year old trying to drive: squinty eyes, hunched back, extreme concentration. I was hooked. You were taking extreme care.

Your apartment is perfect. It's much better than what I could have ever expected. I was thinking dirty socks, nasty dishes, no room for walking, bugs on the ceiling sort of place. I got clean, sans dirty socks, sans bugs- what more could a girl ask for?

Honest: It took a lot of digging to remember what we watched that night. It was some sort of outrageous asian movie about a dinasour or something. I don't know. I could be lying. I think that there's a chance it was dealing more with fighting asians... Next subject.

We aren't couple like. We are couple like. We don't try to fake it either. It's comforting. There's a pull between the two. A bit of confusion. I'm still niave at this point. I still think that dating is a possibility. So, if I were writing this then I'd be more serious. Id think he was a pretensious ass. I'd think that he owed me more than a place to sit and view. It's so hard to stay awake. I'd rather just fall asleep than watch this nonsense. But, it makes us laugh. That's uncommon, it's genuine. You go to the bathroom and I nearly fall alseep. I force myself to stay awake. Something amazing is going to happen. There is no question about it.

I didn't know what amazing was. I just knew I wanted it. I really wanted you.

We finally went to your room. It was quaint. Small. Perfect.

We got in bed. It was warm and comfy. Perfect.

We spooned. Your body was smooth. Perfect.

We fucked for hours. We fell alseep around 6am. Perfect.

I woke up to Jade calling.

Hello?
Where are you?
At his apartment.
Where is that?
I don't know.

I sound extremely drunk still. But, really i'm just groggy. I feel full and satisfied, but i feel sober. He tells her where we are. He rolls me over and we start again.

'...the right kind of love on a sunday morning.'

I remember the previous night this song played through a window or a door. I sang it to you.
So, you're a sublime loving girl?
Mhm they're fucking wonderful.
The next morning I woke up to this. It was our soundtrack. It made me laugh and made me hopeful. The sun beemed through your window while we fucked. You're good at what you do.

You tell Jade you're not a jerk. That you didn't use me. I don't know why this was important for you to point out. Well, I do. You care, but you can't. You're good at what you do.

We're some sort of beautiful. It's scary, but I hide it. I'm good at what I do.

Early Morning

Tug:

There's this constant tug with you. I can't date. I won't date. I forgot how to date. I hate to date. But, with you I want to date. I'm comfortable to date, and could live in your sheets.

Kiss:

We never do it. I never crave them because with you I'm no leech. I can't suck the life from you because you give it to me with no reluctance. You kiss me before you cum like you love me and I kind of hate it. No lip locking, no trouble.

Hands:

Yours drift softly across my stomach, and mine pull at the sheets. Your fingertips are full of life and lust. After I cum my hand rests on your chest and my fingers wander towards your shoulder. My fingers are tingling as I run them across your soft skin. Your hand rests on my body like I was satisfying, like you want more.

Lips:

I bite mine. I bite yours. They smile and they live on your body. They're chapped, but you still always need them. Yours tease me. They hover above my own and always I lunge for the finish.

Legs:

They never fall asleep and they're always in the air. You bite them and through the seering pain I smile and lick my lips because it's hot. The air is always warm when we're together.

Trouble:

You mean no harm. I mean nothing short of harm. I want you, and I want you to tell me you want me. I want to bring you trouble. You play it safe. I'm too wild. I see it in your eyes, I taste it on your skin. You want trouble, too.

Eyes:

It's always too dark. Occasionally you'll turn on the lights, and it makes me feel inadequate. We shut our eyes. We take turns watching. We're afraid to look into the others. We're hungry for the truth.

Alcohol:

You wear it so well. I love it on your breath. I love to lay down when you're inebriated. I love it when you run your lines across me, when you jump, when there's no bull shit. I love it when you're you.

Heart:

When we're all finished and you lay next to me I feel it through the matress. I feel it in your breath. Mine races next to yours.

Toes:

They curl with every touch. They flex when I'm happy and tired. Yours tickle my legs signaling for me to be ready.

Tongues:

Yours runs across my chest and licks my nipples. It makes me crave you. I adore when a drop of spit falls off the tip onto my own tongue. I couldn't find anything more sickeningly sweet.

Breath:

Into my ear you speak no words. It's hot and steamy. Air billows onto me and it forces me to breathe heavy. Days later when I rewind I'm instantly horny. I've never heard music as sweet as your racing breath against my body.

Sex:

The crashing of our bodies. the synching of our lips. the bruising in the morning. the internal bliss. No lesson is ever learned. We're never finished. This part I can't put into words.

Sleep:

We're never without eachother. We've cum. We haven't finished.



Answer:

I ask so many questions, and I call upon so many 'wise' people, but no one really knows the answer. I've always had the answer with you, but it's mission impossible. I tirelessly fight for something I'm sure will never come. You tireless fight to make sure you cum. No, I'm not in love with you. No, I don't like the Rose Parade. No, I'm not attached. I say No, because of you. I see it in you. I only hear from 'wise' ones that 'that's weird.' We see it. I know you're broken, but hey, I'm broken too. I'm not looking to be fixed, and neither are you. We're fucked, so we fuck. We love, so we fuck.

---------------------------------------------

I woke up this morning with some sort of massive explosion in my head. Some sort of I-should-have-drank-50-beers-last-night-headache. I wasn't grouchy becuase I'd gotten my fix. I was of course dumbfounded by the nights happenings, but what girl isn't. Jade, my usual sleeping partner, wakes my lazy ass up. I stretch and state that I'm fucking not ready to get up. I start to tell the story from the previous night and of course she says: He's in love with you. Why don't you two just get married already? I laugh, like always. Since Chris you're the longest lasting relationship I've had. But, who can really call such a thing a relationship?

You were at the bar. I was at home. I lied and said I was at a friends because you seem to have this awful hate for when I'm at home. I'll be there around 1130 with a bag of weed and a more than ready body. I call when I park on Main and there's no answer. I begin to panic and hope you find that you've missed my call soon.

Your picture pops up on my phone screen and I'm relieved.

Hello?
You're whispering, and it's adorable.
Hey. What are you doing?
I reply in a normal tone. I don't know how to be adorable.
I'm sitting in my car. Well, actually it's Jade's car.
Where are you?
I'm across the street from the 711.
I don't see you.
Well, I'm on the street behind the 711.
Come out, come out, wherever you are.
I hang up and walk towards you. I see you and I smile. It'd be much too simple if I could just hide behind a barren face, but I'm wonderful at making things hard. You're drunk. I'm not talking about you're a hot bitch lets fuck on the couch sort of drunk, but a good drunk. The kind that laughs and makes every girl horny. We sit down and turn on adult swim. It's almost always our channel of choice. Something neither one of us has seen is on, so we decide to smoke during the show. I clean out your bowl and you pack it. You let me have green hit.

When you ask me things your voice changes. It's sweeter and richer.
So, I know this is going to sound stupid and I already know the answer but when a bowl is cashed does that just mean that everything is grey and ash?
Well, not necessarily. That's usually like an indicator, but sometimes there's still green in the bowl underneath the ash. Really it's just when you try to hit it and nothing comes through.
Ah, that makes sense becuase in the middle and on the bottom there can still be stuff to smoke.

We finish smoking. I lay back. You get up to break the seal. I put up my hood. I don't know why. It feels right. You come back.
Haha. Why is your hood up?
I don't know! haha.
OMG! Let me see that ring haha.
I'm wearing this ring I've had for ages. It's basically a huge flower made of tarnished metal and turquoise. It's my favorite. I hand over my hand.
Where'd you get this?
I don't know. I've had it since I was like 12. I really don't remember where I bought it.
At a flea market?
Haha, I really don't know.

He's amazed by the ring. He tells me I should have a better story to tell people. That, when objects have a story behind them they inpact people more. They leave more of an impression on people. I know it's true, but i'm speechless. I know no story to tell, and it makes me feel stupid. This is my chance to let you in. You want me to let you in. I fail.
You should tell people when they ask that like your grandma gave it to your mother when something happened and that your mother was only to give it to her daughter when the same thing happened to her.
But, I have a sister.
Well, the oldest daughter. Wait, are you the oldest? I'm just assuming.
Yea, I'm the oldest.
We both sort of laugh at this, but for no real reason.
Well, when I think of an amazing story I'll tell you first even though you know the real story. You can tell me if it's good enough to tell other people.
Ok, we can make it this on going thing. Just text me or call me when you think of something.
I smile because it's this sweet gesture. This opening. I don't consider the fact that in the morning it won't much matter because by then he'll have forgotten. Because, if I were to text him right now with a perfect story I really doubt he'd give a shit. But, no one at all says that disappoints me.

We start to watch the show with the meatball as I describe it to Jade. There's new characters that neither one of us recognize. We try to watch it but neither one of us can follow what's happening. He gets up and says,
Do you wanna go to my room?
I, of course, would be very obliged to. I stand up and hop on his bed. My pupils adjust and I see there's a notebook, his guitar, and an Elliott Smith record on the bed.
Oh, shit. Watch the record.
I know.

Elliott Smith is something beyond words. I loved him before you, but I love him more now with you. I recall the time you sang rose parade to me and my temperature rises a bit. You clear off the bed and I climb into your huge comforter. A kings bed you called it once and you were right. I'm still wearing every article of clothing that I entered the apartment in. A tank top, a dress, a hoodie, and checkered blue and white underwear. I forgot how to impress. You forgot to care. You get up to use the bathroom. I lazily lay and position myself so hopefully the light hits me and you find me pretty. You come back and I've given up on being pretty so my entire body is covered by your comforter.
What are you doing?
Nothing. I've got to pee.
I got to the bathroom and there's no toilet paper. Oh, boys. Typically theres some stashed away that I can just grab from the closet, but none to be found tonight. I walk back down the hallway, which always makes me feel like an elephant from all the creeking.
Do you have any toilet paper?
Uh, this is going to sound weird but while I was at the bar my roommate told me to get some toilet paper. I've got some in my pocket.
I laugh and probably look at him like what the fuck, but it's really just cute. I come back and am more than ready for the rest of the night.

You're laying in your boxers. I love your body. You're covered in tattoos. I want to be covered in you. You dive in. Unsual.

Immediately my blood flow quickens and I'm hungry for you. It's selfish, but I love to curl my body into yours and lay there while you pleasure me. You always let me. I always let you. I turn so I can open my legs. I want to guide you but I love to let you guide yourself. You take my hand, and that means it's time to be selfless. I love your penis. I can't say that for anyone really. I guess you're lucky.

We put pressure on eachother. We get our breath going. We get eachother ready. I love to watch you prepare. You're drunk. I'm selfish. You straddle me. You dick is on my chest. You're rubbing against me. I'm fucking ready, but the anticipation is beautiful. You jerk off in front of me and I swear it's all I need to cum.

Finally we're ready. My fingers are tingly and im lightheaded. Neither is bad. I'm on my stomach. At first it's not at the right angle. It hurts a little, but initial insertion I swear is always heavy. We fix the problem and you flip me over. I love when I'm almost in the fetal position and you're fucking me. I love when you're inside of me.

I'm never loud. That's just not me. Tonight though, I praise you. You're doing beautifully. You raise my leg and you bite my calf. It hurts, but I love it when you dish out pain. It's so delicious with you. Pleasure and pain mix like ice cream and apple pie.

We twist around in several different positions. We master one and move on. It's constant excitement. You're on top. Your arm is pushing against the wall. My left leg is resting in your elbow. You're going at a perfect pace. It's hitting me where I can't help but let you know I love it. You get close and whisper
I'm going to cum inside of you.
I squeeze his hips, which i almost always have a hold of. Resistance is not an option. I'm hungry to see you finish. I love to open all my sense when I know you're ready. You kiss me hard. Your tongue shares your spit with me. I love that. You dominate me. I hear your breath thicken. I see your body clench. I listen to your moans. I want to cum with you.

I feel you finish inside of me. You stay inside. I like it when you do that. When you dont immediately pull out.

We lay down fingertips grazing eachother. My body is rushing with endorphines. You fall asleep and still moan a little. We wake up and take bathroom turns.

Your roommate calls and I can tell you're emberassed to leave. I'd rather sleep here, but know becuase I'm not permanent I should just go. I get dressed and we walk together. I tell you about the concert and the fight I saw the night before. We are going seperate ways. I don't remember exactly but I know someone is supposed to text someone. I drive home still high. Still satisfied.