Spittle shot from my lips when she made me laugh, and a pleasant breeze blew it back in my face.
"That's what you get for being happy," she said.
That was the last day we touched. Our only communication now is increasingly infrequent IMs. She checks in, asks how I am doing, and I lie to her because I lie to myself. She asks me again in a different way. Cops and reporters do the same thing for the same reason.
I type something. Emoticons back and forth. She types something. I sign off and watch pornography, which is ridiculous to me now, a compulsive chore. A woman sucks a hairless scrotum. She gobbles and grunts, and saliva slides down her chest like gravy. All I can think about are turkey necks.
A hug, how about just a hug?
A paper towel smeared with refried beans and hot sauce catches ejaculate. I go to the bathroom and the Boise State blue toilet water splashes into Caribbean green. The porcelain is spotless, but I clean it with a brush anyway, shower it in chemicals, sponge the seat, and flush.
I stand and stare at the white shine. Just stand and stare, waiting for it to dry, then fall to my knees, spray it down, scrub it again, wipe it all over, wrap my arms around the bowl, squeeze, close my eyes, and press my cheek, hot against its cold.
"That's what you get for being happy," she said.
That was the last day we touched. Our only communication now is increasingly infrequent IMs. She checks in, asks how I am doing, and I lie to her because I lie to myself. She asks me again in a different way. Cops and reporters do the same thing for the same reason.
I type something. Emoticons back and forth. She types something. I sign off and watch pornography, which is ridiculous to me now, a compulsive chore. A woman sucks a hairless scrotum. She gobbles and grunts, and saliva slides down her chest like gravy. All I can think about are turkey necks.
A hug, how about just a hug?
A paper towel smeared with refried beans and hot sauce catches ejaculate. I go to the bathroom and the Boise State blue toilet water splashes into Caribbean green. The porcelain is spotless, but I clean it with a brush anyway, shower it in chemicals, sponge the seat, and flush.
I stand and stare at the white shine. Just stand and stare, waiting for it to dry, then fall to my knees, spray it down, scrub it again, wipe it all over, wrap my arms around the bowl, squeeze, close my eyes, and press my cheek, hot against its cold.
~O~
8 x like a billion = how much I love you:
thuhweet thuhweet rotto.
very nice indeed.
that paper towel is the stuff made of legends.
still clown with the underground when we come around.
trimines.
see?
"ponfo"
I like a lot the texts you right, which are like a snapshot of an everyday situation that happens in a private place where people interact with themselves trough their own personal communication codes wich only they know and understand. Created by themselves.
These situations looked from the outisde, always leave you with a sour taste in your mouth.
Ouch. Those are the ones that really hurt.
Thanks for the kindness. It's much obliged.
Fight the powers that be.
Word.
'Stryness is nice, but stryness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to.'
thanks peeps
I'll hug your hairless scrotum anyday. x
you know that point, when you go camping and you finally stop giving a fuck about what dirt is on your hands and sandwich, and you start doing your best to make sure it gets under your fingernails and inside you? that's how this made me feel. keeping things clean doesn't change anything...
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