Most of the conversations were boring. Too many back and forths with men she either found only mild to medium attractive or so peculiarly hot that they must be bots. Too many men relating her skin color to some sort of food item.

He produces a handgun from under the seat, displays it, points it up toward the sunroof.

I couldn't look in the mirror because I didn't recognize myself and I was terrified. Not a metaphor for becoming a new mom - I actually could not recognize myself because I had a brand new rare and severe psychiatric condition called depersonalization derealization disorder where recognizing yourself in the mirror is no longer an option.

Right away we shared amphetamines. He fed them to me to keep me awake.

You have to keep in mind this is a true story, and the events I’m about to describe took place before 2006 in a desert land which I’ve never been able to find again on any map. And years later, when I

When I asked years later if you had a sex addiction and you said, No, do you? I hesitated before responding no, because I was thinking, Only to you.

I’m fascinated by the heart's struggle to remain content with any one thing—even when there are no other choices within permissible reach—but I'd like to stop experiencing it firsthand.

Loud noises bother me. Crunching on chips. What did they do five hundred years ago when they didn’t have chips? They ate grapes. Quietly.

We were children once, but we aren’t anymore. At least, that’s what Magda says.

I tell him that next year I may hang myself—that’s the funny thing about life—you never know what it’s going to throw at you.

i allow myself to feel joy listening to Anita Baker Same Ol Love and
when im prescient of the joy i rock a lil harder. 

I closed my eyes and imagined bones buried just beyond the volcano, on the other side of the hill.

Snapchat filter. Left.

My dad had purchased the car for me a year before from a disillusioned actress in the San Fernando Valley. When we arrived at her home to pick up the car, the actress let us in and began sobbing. She said she was moving to Mexico, away from all “this,” waving dramatically out the window to the valley below.

I like to hang out with models. Models, like Chip in Rent Boy, understand the “strange desires of men.” They live a life of the body.

boyfriend has tourette's

dick ass ugh lick butt fuck slut

People like when their opponents are sick and twisted. It’s easy to win an argument if your enemies are medically immoral people. 

S is for sponsor who you really should call.

You'll never raise an army 

How many t shirts is the ass model pushing
I'll never sell more books
than ice cream I've scooped
Everything is in its natural order

Is trying to want the same as

I scrolled through lifeless, overlit live streams as my routine of cycling through the usual forums and apps began. For me, a lot of the attraction came from being able to project my desire onto a performer.

but you know there is a Truth Moment coming, and sure enough the next morning he says hey and you say hey and he says sorry about last night

Do I look erratic
in my Robert Cavalli jeans?

I tell her I want some kissing, one
minute of mat kissing before lesson plans,
emails, dishes.

Dexedrine,
obedient beauty,

a low-calorie
alternative

for excess.

and by the way, I wear jeans too, and I’ll fuck that white girl, absolutely, from the commercial, the camera trails her on the beach, she’s smiling, now she’s hiding behind her hands . . . 

He’s feeding the gift horse / Paranoid discourse