poetry
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revenge sex

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i like to wake up and read the poems i wrote
while drunk. the words come from some otherworld
that always hides the next day. last night
whiskey and rum colored everything blue.
i was alone. then there were people at two:thirty
in the morning. i was tired and did not want to hear
mouths eager to spill out words. left them. came
to the darkness of my bed. wanted to sleep but
their voices were clubs beating my head
through the walls. i needed to stay calm. i needed
release to not become a storm who tore them down–
i masturbated so loud they could hear.

This entry was posted in: poetry

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