Write him off.

1 year ago

fuck my satellite heart. i’d talked about love with so many different men that it all seemed meaningless for a long time. then i met him. the closer he came, the harder i pushed until there was nothing but distance between us. the more skin he peeled off, the tighter i slapped on my game face. i kept it on for two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five nights.
i couldn’t recognise myself anymore unless i was on my knees. how long are you going to live on a fucking prayer, he finally asked me. i’d compromised myself enough to know when i was being given up on and i knew he would never give up on me.
i took out our wedding album. it reeked of frankie’s piss. you used our album for kitty litter, he said. i shrugged. frankie wasn’t a kitty cat. he was goddamn satan in a fur ball.
what’s really wrong, he asked me. i got down on my knees and unbuckled his jeans. i yanked hard on his zipper but it didn’t budge. i cried. he stroked my head and i slapped his hand away. he unzipped his jeans with ease and i cried harder but he didn’t touch me this time.
i leaned forward until my forehead kissed his belly button. i pressed my lips to his skin. i inhaled his musky scent. i cried even more.
i want to wake up before the sun rises, before she wakes you with her rays, so i can hear your gentle snores, so i can smile myself back to sleep in your arms. i want to watch your reflection in the mirror brush your teeth and shave and i want to fall in love with you all over again even though our lives are crumbling around us and frankie’s ruined our wedding photos and we’re a fucking mess.

fuck my satellite heart. i’d talked about love with so many different men that it all seemed meaningless for a long time. then i met him. the closer he came, the harder i pushed until there was nothing but distance between us. the more skin he peeled off, the tighter i slapped on my game face. i kept it on for two thousand, five hundred and fifty-five nights.

i couldn’t recognise myself anymore unless i was on my knees. how long are you going to live on a fucking prayer, he finally asked me. i’d compromised myself enough to know when i was being given up on and i knew he would never give up on me.

i took out our wedding album. it reeked of frankie’s piss. you used our album for kitty litter, he said. i shrugged. frankie wasn’t a kitty cat. he was goddamn satan in a fur ball.

what’s really wrong, he asked me. i got down on my knees and unbuckled his jeans. i yanked hard on his zipper but it didn’t budge. i cried. he stroked my head and i slapped his hand away. he unzipped his jeans with ease and i cried harder but he didn’t touch me this time.

i leaned forward until my forehead kissed his belly button. i pressed my lips to his skin. i inhaled his musky scent. i cried even more.

i want to wake up before the sun rises, before she wakes you with her rays, so i can hear your gentle snores, so i can smile myself back to sleep in your arms. i want to watch your reflection in the mirror brush your teeth and shave and i want to fall in love with you all over again even though our lives are crumbling around us and frankie’s ruined our wedding photos and we’re a fucking mess.