March 21, 2004

Untie me.
You fucking traitor.
Sit there, stare at me, a relished token of your nonaffection.
I’m not your fucking fallen angel.
I am not your toy.
Tell me lies.
I’ll lay down and wrap them ’round me like robes of silk.
Just stop talking. No touching.
Leave the room.
Make me feel like I am real.

Life is much to short to be intoxicated.

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