November 2nd, 2004

here comes the sun.

At least i'm not base. I'm fucking acidic and loving it. Completely whole, lying in bed when he touches my lips and I can only think of toast. Toast, toast, toast. Pressing his tongue against my collar bone. Toast. White with butter. And I thought of this knife pressing on how badly I wanted out. My eyes planned escape through the ceiling but couldn't bring my body to move. Shut the fuck up and lose it. So dirty, such a fucking slut. I wanted to go into the bathroom and wash all my sins away with that bar of Zest soap. And I did. Leaving a small silver ring of evidence behind to fall into the irony of this advancement and simply be flushed away. I'm packing everything down like chocolate chip ice cream back into the container. Pretty fucked up triangle we're in. Oh but honey don't you know? This isn't a triangle anymore. It's a fucking octagon. I've got swollen particles around my neck tying me down since dawn and sand in the most virgile cracks of solitude. Some things are better left unsaid.