my suggestions either way have no place in the matter. it's just a damn shame, because she's so pretty and i think you may have used to be handsome but then it turned out you weren't hot shit after all and i fucking hate the way your eyes narrow when you think you're being charming. blackout drunk.
the problem is not that you're out of your mind, the problem is that your head is in you. quite intact. quite frightening. the problem is that my hands shake when i think of how things are in comparison to how things were, and that your fingers are crossed neatly hanging lightly from your resting forearms. the problem is not that you disgust me, but that you are disgusting. and i know you will fuck anything that moves or doesn't move and given the chance you would issue whatever necessary to make sure your dick ends the night limp. it can start with a smile or it can start with a guilt trip. because "it isn't gunna suck itself."
no shit, idiot. maybe you should start stretching then because that isn't her job.
i remember the time we wrestled, actually wrestled. you pinned me, then I came back stronger and too flexible. so i won and you cried for hours. that is a symbol and it makes me laugh.
must be hard to grapple with knowing that if your brain says you feel love, then it must be true. why would our brains tell us different? i do not have an answer for that but i do know that sometimes my brain tells me i am hungry when it is far more likely that i am dehydrated.
just chemicals between synapses.
she might be made of feathers. you must know because she sprouts new ones in the middle of the night and by morning they are gone and you are the only other person in the room.
angels do not take well to plucking, you see. they have flying to do, you see.
