Direct Contact with a Lit Match (or, Cheaper than a Fuse.)
2009-07-20, 6:56 a.m.

I am opened, and exposed.
I am his whore.

I remember his strong sent, the smell of him as I pleased him, on my knees. In his dirty old Celebrity. Painted black.

And now I'm prone, and he's deep within me.
And it's my choice, no more childish fooling around, now we are fucking. And I'm hard. The leather couch slick with semen from my dripping antisipation.

The therapist who's office we clean will never know what we do here. Late at night with the door locked. I can almost taste the blowjob i'd given him the previous night.

He's twitching. He's done with me and now he'll freak out like everytime. But this time's special. He had never been inside me til now.

So he puts himself away and we unlock the door together, we finish our work now.

He's no longer aware that he's dripping out of me.

Do nothing

Repitition of HatredLoveless AvenueBurn Out (and) Fade Away