I guess it’s time.

Past time?

I didn’t shave or shower before I left
at sometime around 11 at night.
He fucked me anyway.
Nobody got off.
I’ve been invited back, but not to live.

Nobody gets off.

The second night solicited a marriage proposal.

Very little English is spoken
although there is incessant chatter.

It might seem odd to ask
but why do they always want to marry me?

I can’t love you back
so, in a way, I understand now.
I don’t want to care anymore.
Isn’t that fucking obvious by now?
Why else would I…

Instead, I suppose it’s about time I started.

Start over.

My things are not packing themselves, and I have to be out by the end of the week.

fuck me

Let’s switch shifts.

I stared up through the glass at her legs,
and then gazed over at her friend.
The skirt ended just above the knees.
Conservative length
in a flamboyant print.
I stared at the back of her knees
imagining the fronts
and burning for her to turn around
as I traced each pore with the hair shorn close.

This is considered attractive.

There’s a rash between my fingers
and I’m losing my mind.
I joke
and rationalize
but

it’s really slipping further
each time.

When stumbling across something genuine, it’s deemed strange.

still fucked

I don’t visit because I find her as alluring as you must, but I visit merely because…you must. Do you understand how sad this tendency is? You went silent for several months, but I kept visiting the way…you must. She is the only lingering connection to you that I have, and that I linger is so fucking sad.

You showed yourself there. Just a few days ago. You.

Do you know how sad it is to be like this? You…must.