Drinking Songs

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Drinking songs and ladybirds and the way you eye yourself up in the mirror not knowing whether you’ve still got it. And this it, is it wanting to know if guys still wanna fuck you, or is it about needing to be the source of their obsessions as well? What eats away even more is the knowledge you’re not getting any younger, and each day there seems to be another young girl stepping on your toes and you don’t like it one bit. Those drinking songs, they ease my pain almost as much as the drink itself. They play while I’m trying to sleep because sleep never comes with silence. Not anymore. And those ladybirds. They don’t appear as much as they used too, but from time to time they make themselves known, and each time they do, it reminds me that I’m capable of love, and for this, I thank their tiny shells with all I have. Sometimes I’m a dirty beast for wishing to suck your tits. Sometimes I get so weak and need to be mothered because I don’t want to die so feed me your milk and stroke my hair. Sing to me a song that sounds like the waters of your womb. Let me swim there. Let me smile at the sun as you keep me safe from harm so that death will never touch me again. Looking at yourself in the mirror and moving from one foot to the other while pressing down the material that clings to your belly, I kick off the covers and slide down my pyjamas. As you eye me up out the corner of your eye, I stroke my beard and then my cock while grinning at you. I want you to be disgusted. I want an argument. I want you to come on over and bite my neck and suck the blood right out of me and then I want to grab your hair and call you a cunt before you take control because I’m just a man and all men are useless. As the minutes roll and we get ready for our dance, the looking glass still holds your image, and even when you’re on top of me removing your bra, I can’t help but look at the other you as you inspect your reflection trying so hard to figure out what it all means. To be a woman. To be a lover. To simply exist. Grabbing you by the neck, I bite your ear with one eye still on the mirror, and as you bite me on the lips in return, the mirror ripples and we shift through time as if time had no meaning at all.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com

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