Another Sunday morning. Slightly dazed after Waterfalls and a shot of tequila that I probably shouldn’t have downed but predictably did anyway. Drowning away the past, present, and future just so I don’t have to think of you. And yet I am anyhow, in the taste of ink and the burn of needles.
So I’m your first, huh? Your first ever? You’ve never been attracted to a man before? A boy has never turned you on? A glass of water, black coffee, a lit cigarette. Words. Looks. Smiles. No promises, no complications. A world of us that can only exist when no one’s around.
How can I shake you off when you’ll always be etched all over me?