I listen to Queen. “Another One Bites the Dust.” The soundtrack of my life.

With a spoon, I am turning you away.

I’m in the habit of befriending slightly older women. Maternal figures leading bohemian lives within suburban parameters. Seekers abandoned in childhood by dead(beat) moms. Motherless daughters can sniff out other motherless daughters. We wear our stale deprivation like a discontinued perfume.

There was a guy called PixelMoth13 on a late-night forum saying, “Love is a wound that repeatedly tears and stitches itself back together.” I clicked like.

Rude Guy tortured me. I would go over to his house in ridiculously slutty outfits, and he would only open his door a crack, and give me a poetry quiz. Then he would let me in, but still not fuck me!

The snow is falling in big chunks, disguising the somber gray of the neighborhood I hate, Bushwick. I thought it’d grow on me by now, our second winter here; it hasn’t. On the street below is a bright

I got a tattoo on my ass at her behest.

Or maybe he’d become enamored with another OnlyFans model with a bigger butt and perkier tits and a more welcoming smile.

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During my last couple of years in Spain, things—how shall we say?—spun out of control. It was like getting tossed by one of those huge ferocious Northern Californian waves that tumbles you, holds

I want you to see me ignoring you.

My last few nights at Will’s house were strained but also pleasant. I consciously wanted to love him. And I did, in a way, but I was drifting.

Punishments:

—deprivation of recreation

—bread and water diet

—48-hour dungeon stays; no bed, no food, no lights

This was my chance! I moved to the seat in front of her and we lay across our seats and laughed together like a yin-yang necklace coming back together.

or because I’d seen him unwrap the extra large condom and suddenly longed, anxiously and fatuously like a girl wanting her stuffed animal, for my first boyfriend who weighed less than me

Alex burrowed into my cold, bright grave, nestled in tight.

That night she found me on Facebook.

The written word, music, visual arts. These, if done well, are the unconscious sneaking past the curtain. Using language to self-implode Logic. Some real Matrix shit.

In the black screen, I watched M undress me slowly.

I wanted to cry.

Midway through our relationship, he had told me that whenever we had sex, he needed to think of other girls in order to stay hard. He told me everyone did it

One night Evan and I got so drunk on grape liquor that we started making out in the shower

I consider asking Richard if he’ll piss on my book but I’m still too shy.

Played a socialite who leaves her abusive husband to run off with an outlaw, themes
 

Skaters are like theater kids with better outfits.

A Little Death

An aggressive Doberman knocked Cindy up weeks later.