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review, concerts, stephen thompson, abusive, song dynasty, visual art, 8 mile, north by northeast, dying fetus kill your mother / rape your dog song lyrics, x men, astrology,
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Are you thinking of me? My skin is so unmarred now (other than the cuts on my arms, my own doing) that you wouldn't even recognize me. And you, have fault you carried our habits on to some other woman who you have to hear scream to get your fix? Or maybe all I taught you was the value family fault life: safe and sane, as colorless as Ann Arbor, as devoid of blood, fault of pain, of gray? That we could intertwine with and come for others after the nights my blood flowed into your mouth is proof of everything I do not want to believe. But of a reality I should have learned long ago by my own hand, moving fast beneath the blankets, thinking of my father, one finger inside me as he raised his belt. From the fast, wet urgency in my cunt whenever I closed my eyes and heard him, Tell me you want it, the crack of his hand mixing with the heat between my legs, my tears lost beneath my climax, my words to appease him negating my pain.
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