I find it strange the way people can pull themselves from each other so quickly. I feel similar to the green, slime filled traps my dad use to set in our garage to catch the mice that were eating through our memories some days. No matter the strength of them, their bodies have become one with this piece of plastic, goop, death. So tragic and trivial.
There is no winning there and things just keep going on, the boxes start being moved around, the mice soon aware of what this place means now.
I wonder what it’s like for you to sit across from your girl with her lips pressed to her coffee cup in the morning. Her hair falling just so. A way that nauseates you and pulls you in all at the same time. Sticking you there.
How many lips have sat across from you like that at the edge of something hot?
And when you lay behind her at night do you ever wish her ass caved around your manhood like mine did? Or maybe that feels just right.
I’ve tried many times not to think of you. In fact on most days I think of you as the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Other days I think you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.
I was the one little mouse who got away only to be missing one organ instead of a whole life.