am i a person or a place? i am a place, mostly. a dumpsite. to you. i mean i would let you run your dirty hands all over my body then allow you to dump things on me. sometimes they are pink, pink plastic. or white substances. pink and white make a good combination, don't you think? strawberry milk. strawberry meeeeeeeeok in the dark
on the roof
on the ground.
why would you just throw it
first strawberry milk, next intangible words like 'i would like to marry you someday' and 'you are special'.
why am i special? is it because i only operate in the darkness? is it because i touched you (better than she did)? i couldn't touch them even though they were naked and dancing and fucking an inch from my nose. i have never been good at swallowing. you want me to swallow? you didn't, you let me spit it out. but i didn't want to. it was nice, having you inside me. i never wanted to open my mouth again after the first kiss. i wanted the air you expulsed inside me
it smelled of bulgari pour homme soir. did you notice sometimes i would rub myself against your body? i wanted all of it on me. i love animals, i love animals. you loved me because i was an animal, correct? if you don't remember just lift up your shirt and look at your back in the mirror. sorry, i'm not. those are love marks, why i love you. love is a concoction of horniness and carelessness.
i don't think i know what love is.
perhaps you have ruined me with that strawberry milk. i never liked strawberry milk until i met you. now i know what your love is
it is strawberry milk and scratches and fuck me fuck me fuck me