Doesn’t Matter. I Just Wanna Fuck You So Badly

I haven’t seen you in a long time. Ever since that night we talked of things I forgot about the next day. Doesn’t matter. I just wanna fuck you so badly.

I look at some photos of you with some other people in some strange place and I can’t understand what’s going on. Truth is, I don’t really care what’s going on. Doesn’t matter. I just wanna fuck you so badly.

But your hair looks softer now and your face looks fresher now. I can’t remember exactly if your skin looked this good when we met–like a hot cup of mocha spilled onto your thin bones and maliciously coagulated into these thin, fragile strips of edible sin.

I can tell you’ve hit the big time. Or so that’s the image you want to project. So you’ve got money. And the car. And the crib. The uptown pals. Influence. Tons of fun.

I don’t care.

They don’t matter a lick.

I just wanna fuck you so badly.

See, tonight–the night doesn’t agree with me and the day turned its back on me. And it gets worse ’cause I don’t have a bottle of beer in my hand. It sucks balls. Hairy, veiny, crabby, old, gnarly balls.

See, tonight, I’m facing my old desktop wrapped up in a blanket while waiting for some pirated series to load. Takes forever–like the chance to bump into you again while drinking out with friends in a dingy bar. And I can almost feel my oily beard and mustache growing ever so slowly as time slips by quietly into irrecoverable nothingness. Everything–and I mean everything–sucks balls.

So I want you.

To be more specific, woman, I just wanna fuck you so badly.

I need you and what you have to offer. Throw them at my face–everything. Your arms, your legs, your eyes, your mouth (that mouth!), your whispers, your laughter, your stench, your wildness, the beast beyond your breasts, your mom, your problems, your makeup kit, your bag, your cat if you have one, your everything. Everything. Everything I don’t really care about. ‘Cause I don’t really care about you and I don’t want you to care about me. Let’s not care about ourselves and the points we want to make.

Let’s just fuck for fuck’s sake.

I’ve had enough of them, anyway–the whiners, the career talkers, the do-gooders, the rat race.

Tonight, I just want to focus on you. While not thinking about you.

Violate you while gently protecting stuff.

Stuffing while emptying out.

Screaming while shutting my mind. Our minds.

Let’s just

Let’s just

Let’s just kill what’s living inside of us tonight.

Rejoice for the chance and the right to do what they don’t expect us to do. Do each other like that’s what we do. Let’s baffle their brainless logic and stomp on their jaws on the floor. Let’s raise a big, almighty finger to the moon, which only shines on lovers in lagoons. Buffoons. Let’s cuddle ’til the dawn breaks, and when it does, let’s get up without pretending to care about breakfast and the last words to say before leaving.

Open the door and step out into this proper world, feeling like aliens from Mars.

Can you feel me?

No?

Well, I don’t think so.

You’re not in my chair, anyway, in this room. Licking your lips at the extraordinary poison that is yourself. And that’s the problem.

Because seriously, woman, I’m alone and tired. And I don’t give a damn about your work, colleagues, hobbies, and family.

I don’t care about your life at all. Not even what my ex and your friend might think. Doesn’t matter. I just wanna fuck you so badly.

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Filed under Life, Poems

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