Dressing gowns soaked with rain. Cigarettes that slip and twist and fall from skinny fingers that should know better. The smell of what it is to be human- it makes me horny and it makes me sad. On the kerb, there’s a vehicle with its engine running that’s been parked there for the best part of an hour. There are no lights, only faces that shift invisibly as clouds threaten to piss down on our unworthy heads. The town centre shakes from a mile away, and as trains rattle at the foot of the garden we feel the vibrancy of life all around and yet so desperately far away at the same time. She’s been crying but I pretend not to notice. She’s been scratching her arms but so have I, so we just stand there drinking our wine trying to figure out whether or not we’re too drunk to fuck. In my pocket there are bus tickets and dried leaves plus a cock ring. I stole it from Tesco after we ate out at Nandos with people we know only when we’re drunk. She goaded me to do it, and after I had done, I was sick with guilt. Laughing at me as I stood there hunched over a bin on our way back to mine through the park, as punishment, I shoved my tongue into her mouth, and when she tried pulling away, I put my hand up her top and grabbed her breasts in plain sight of the traffic going up and down the main road to our left. She flew into a rage and threatened to leave me but my words soon subdued her, but only because I lied. Never like to, but when it makes her smile, life feels a little less threatening, and that smile of hers- how it makes this dreary place seem so heavenly if only for a second.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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