Perhaps the multitude of crows atop the trees were mourning all that could have been, that night we stayed out listening to them caw.  I followed you back inside, leaving behind my cigarette, a thousand words unspoken, and feelings I’ll never wish to revisit.

With a hungry look in his eyes he tilts his head and whispers "is that ***** nice and wet for me?"

I smile.  
Nodding silently I bite my lip.  
I stifle a soft chuckle with a feigned moan.

He will not know that his fingers prune from tears; my **** is simply crying for someone that is not him.

I would have nothing to write about had I not taken the motto my father raised me by seriously.

“**** anyone who doesn’t respect you”.

You don’t get anywhere in this world by stepping around eggshells, so don’t shut up until you’re up to your ankles in chicken abortions and notoriety.

We know when we meet someone who we could spend the rest of our lives with.  It just hits you like a ton of bricks.  I mean, yeah, I loved my last boyfriend and we told each other we wanted to grow old together, but deep down at the pit of my stomach I knew that it was all *******.  I knew I would never actually end up with him, it just feels so good to say that at the time.  It makes sleeping next to that person just a little nicer, it makes ******* in their mouth just a little easier, it provides this false sense of security that you know is false but feels so good to temporarily embrace.  In fact, it may feel better than actually loving someone.  It lets you to make promises that for a period of time allow you to wake up and get ready for the day without hating yourself.  It allows you to say things that are totally crazy but no one denies.  When you’re really in love, or when you get slapped in the face by compatibility, everything you do and feel has genuine meaning, the dreams that you never bothered learning how to enact become a reality.  Finding that connection, that paradigm of all that is right in the world, can be a curse.

You carefully destroyed me

Uncovered the most tender parts of my core with detective kit compliments

Places where I never let anyone feed.

You gnawed on the clitoral soul that I thought I buried years ago

Until I lay sprawled beneath you, no pulse.

Necrophiliacs like us best when we cannot match their heaving breaths

Or reach out to wipe the sweat off their brow, induced from fear of poor performance.

How unfortunate for you that I am an empty casket.

Accustomed to cremation, I turned to ashes upon your final assault.

Try to grasp me again, I’ll slip through your fingers.

There isn’t an urn strong enough to keep a woman condensed