When he tastes like your mom smelt those Saturday morning when you heard your parents having a screaming contest, it becomes obvious that you don't want to be your father and that your ****** childhood still haunts you like the abandoned neighborhood house everyone went to be scared even though the real demons were in our craniums the whole time and we're always going to be possessed by these dangerous thoughts and memories.

1am
On a Saturday
She sits there-
Drowning in her own self loathing
She yearns for-
Acceptance.
Not in society
Not in her family,
but in her own mind
Her mind is a gas station on a holiday
Complete chaos and turmoil
She is not just "sad"
She is unexplainable
She is hot, yet so cold
Worst of all
She fits yet not quite.