most nights I take my ******* off and if I’m lucky then there’s something soft like a blanket knit by my grandmother’s hand or sometimes the boorish **** of a man, it’s all the same;
something soft to soothe my soul at night.
sometimes I paint my lips the scarlet of a harlot so that my smirk will weaken someone at the knees, I only hope; and to get into my bed at night they need only say please, brush my dissipated face with their disappointed fingers and then whisper you could be so beautiful… and the loneliness consumes me, then it begins to confuse me and I could hide in here for days simply staring at a picture, or I could drink it all away with a girl and then I’d kiss her
but it’s all the same escape; I’m just trying to soothe my soul with something soft tonight.