I have a very childlike rage, and a very childlike loneliness.
each time I swallow pills the digestion is loud - a reminder of the self-inflicted damage. when I say your name it feels like i’m reading a child’s obituary but I’m addicted to the feeling. I lack purity to the point where you can smell it when I’m disemboweled and bloody. not even dogs would want to lick up my remains. i grew up in a house where the wallpaper was just as tacky as boys in rich suburbs with a gun tucked into their waistband. grew up screaming mom stop as she came towards me with a studded belt. being high and in love is when i’m most dangerous. i look at him and say, “were together because its fate” but what i mean is i’ve been waiting my entire life just to find a place in someone where i can dance for hours without a melody. we hold hands just like im holding both of mine together at this moment and i tell him that the many boys before him meant nothing. i’ll tell him i’ve been writing his name on my desk since first grade. he has a machine gun in his heart, sometimes it goes off, when it does I cum hard. when he fingered me for the first time i knew it. he doesn’t understand that he can’t trust me, he can’t trust the bottom of his heart in the middle of me.
I want a living being to cleanse me. I want to be baptized while looking in the eyes of my perfect lover. I want this lover to hover a halo around my lost head by day and fuck me brutally with a crucifix when dusk hits. I want a lover to know what life looked like before christ. I want them to share their theories of what these cities will sing after he has left for hours on end as we sit in the darkness of an empty room lighting american spirits one after another. I want a fatalistic lover. I want a lover who I can go to cleanse myself instead of god who isn’t afraid of muddy feet and bruised knees. I want to find solace in not childhood memory, Bukowski, or Kafka but in this lover. I want a lover who was made in the image of god because I was not.