(no subject)
It's just like how every girl at some point in her life has written out: "Don't make someone in your life a priority when you're only an option in theirs," and we're so deep and we're so insightful, and this time we won't change ourselves for a guy. We're liars, we're all lying! I'm addicted to being someone's bitch and so are you. I mean it's the power, the debasement, yelling at each other in cars, pushing him out of your way, having his chlorine hands grab your arm, hard. It's crying once a week together after having broken up again.
It's never fitting together in sex.
It's never different, it's always the same, it's always mouthing these empowerment messages while shoving your hands over his dick. I mean his dick! That's all there is to it. Kneeling on the floor for blow jobs, wearing out your arm to jerk him off in the mornings. Choking on his semen that time he accidentally shot his load way down the back of your throat.
Here we are, every time we're together it's explosive and stupid and bruising. I can't be with these dudes, with my paws and my claws and my murky green heart. My eyes attach themselves to you! I started shoving you into me until it was 1, 4, 10, two hundred days, four thousand hours. Just into you, into you, into you. Now my lips taste like copper and I've got a bad back, I've got a stoop and cloud eyes and I'm like an old piece of paper, I'm full of waterspots and stains. WHO CARES, who cares internet. Who cares that you have nightmares about him, he's yelling at you and his hate has a shape and who cares that your insides are eighty-three. Who cares that you're alone with pebbles in your mouth and who cares that I'm too smooth to picture any future where I'm not crumpled up and worn out and I mean
it's spring, it's fucking spring, so here we go again, I want to flick my tongue into your mouth, your stupid goddamn MOUTH, so I can lick your idiot teeth, so I can get down on all fours til it's over.
And then we'll hold hands in the sunshine but it won't be over, it'll never be over. IT'S SPRING, time for blow jobs and hand jobs and sleeping with the windows open.
It's never fitting together in sex.
It's never different, it's always the same, it's always mouthing these empowerment messages while shoving your hands over his dick. I mean his dick! That's all there is to it. Kneeling on the floor for blow jobs, wearing out your arm to jerk him off in the mornings. Choking on his semen that time he accidentally shot his load way down the back of your throat.
Here we are, every time we're together it's explosive and stupid and bruising. I can't be with these dudes, with my paws and my claws and my murky green heart. My eyes attach themselves to you! I started shoving you into me until it was 1, 4, 10, two hundred days, four thousand hours. Just into you, into you, into you. Now my lips taste like copper and I've got a bad back, I've got a stoop and cloud eyes and I'm like an old piece of paper, I'm full of waterspots and stains. WHO CARES, who cares internet. Who cares that you have nightmares about him, he's yelling at you and his hate has a shape and who cares that your insides are eighty-three. Who cares that you're alone with pebbles in your mouth and who cares that I'm too smooth to picture any future where I'm not crumpled up and worn out and I mean
it's spring, it's fucking spring, so here we go again, I want to flick my tongue into your mouth, your stupid goddamn MOUTH, so I can lick your idiot teeth, so I can get down on all fours til it's over.
And then we'll hold hands in the sunshine but it won't be over, it'll never be over. IT'S SPRING, time for blow jobs and hand jobs and sleeping with the windows open.