First Post Of 2014

It can outrun me.  I’m slow.  Blah. So very slow.  I’m wet jeans, no belt, sag city shuffle.  Throw cream pies at my face. I’ll just have to take it and cry because…slow. So, so slow.

I’m slow so it paces.  I get lots of spit in my face.  Mucus at first, then just clear bubbly.  He hits my tits like scolding.  Slaps them red.  He calls me fat, lazy, ugly, useless, pathetic.  All I can do is agree.  It’s true anyway.  Spits and hits, spits and hits, spits and hits.  I want him to fuck me into full depression.  Just be a big fat guy that gives me all that I deserve which is destruction.  Shame. 

So cool, right?

If you’re in the car with me and Led Zeppelin, we’ll go hard.  I’ll turn the knob to the right and my head will move forward and back, forward and back, forward and back.  A grin will grow on my face and my eyes will slit a little while my head turns to look at you.  If you don’t feel what I’m feeling in that moment, we have no reason to be together from that point forward.

My stomach is busting my pants.  It’s a red 21.  There’s a manufactured hole in my jeans that shouts my mediocrity.  Maybe this will be the year I get a professional massage.  Maybe this will be the year I will get fingered by a man in clown makeup.  Maybe this will be the year I go fishing and catch the corpse of a young girl, If I’m really lucky, maybe this will be the year I finish my novel.  But luckier still, maybe this will be the year I feel more than useless.

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