Sunday, 6 April 2014

Sunday Scribbles

Sometimes you have a story in you  that just need to get out. This one, in particular,  will never go anywhere.

Most likely because I will never finish it.

Or it won't fit into the brand I'm trying to build.  Or a baby pterodactyl will swoop in and destroy my computer, and every laptop I try to operate after that. When I convince my agent to accept handwritten MSs, the pterodactyl will develop a vicious hunger for pens and pencils alike.

I thought it'd be fun to blog about the words no one will ever read. So, for your viewing pleasure, here's a taste of the book I'll never finish.


You wake me up the usual way;
incoherent text messages and snowballs against my window.
We’ll get caught one of these times,
but you don’t care.
“It’s worth it,” you say.
“You’re worth it,” you say.
You kiss me like the plane is going down.
Like I’m the only thing worth saving.
You kiss me like you’ll never let me go,
but we both know you will.
You’ve already started.


You’re so fragile.
I could snap you into pieces with my bare hands.
The look you’re giving me now makes me
feel like I already have.
“I have to go,” I say.
You push your fingers into my hair and slip your tongue into my mouth.
“Come upstairs,” you whisper.
The lie sticks on my lips but I force it out anyway.
“I can’t.”
Do you know I’m going to see her?
You curl around me and slide your icy fingers underneath my t-shirt.
I know I could…but I don’t.



Before, you never would have left.
You would have stayed until the sun spilled into my room.
Now, you don’t even look back.
Now, you don’t even try to hide it.
Hide her.
She’s all over you.
Her lip gloss stains your cheek, her perfume lays claim to your pillow.
You think I don’t see it?
I can’t see anything else.



Her mom doesn’t care that I’m over,
 though sneaking in is half the fun.
She’s waiting for me,
 already naked under her covers.
It’s like getting a present that’s already unwrapped.
She doesn’t run her fingers through my hair.
I don’t care how school was.
She tears the buttons you just sewed back on.
I tuck them into the pocket full of condoms.
We don’t make love,
we fuck.
She doesn’t sigh my name,
she screams it.
She sinks her nails into my back,
 carving her initials into my skin like bark.
I don’t kiss her goodbye.
I never do.
All my kisses are saved for you.


I remember the first time I saw you.
Jenny warned me you were trouble.
I couldn’t resist.
You acted like you didn’t even see me,
But I felt your stare all night.
You stayed on the couch the entire party,
a different freshmen bringing you a beer each time.
You only got up when I left.
You only got up to chase.
Jenny said you were hard.
Damaged Goods.
I should have known fixing you


I want you more after I’ve been with her.
I want to wash the taste of her out of my mouth.
I want you on my breath.

My parents know.
Dad just shakes his head.
Mom won’t even look at me.
They love you.

I love you.

Or at least I would if I knew how.


“You look tired,” Jenny says at school.
“I’m fine.” I shrug your sweater off my shoulders.
I’m always fine.
“Don’t lie,” she whispers.
“I’m not.” I smile.
I’m always smiling.
“It’ll be okay.” She hugs me.
“I know,” I lie.
I’m always lying.

I think about the days
we couldn’t make it through class
without sneaking out to
devour each other in the stairwell.

Where did we go wrong?


I remember when it all changed.
You were out with Jenny.
You’re always with her.
I went to that party.
She was there.
I filled her plastic cup until foam sloshed onto her fingers.
I got hard when she licked it all off.
I stayed hard until she sucked me off.

I hated myself after.

I still do.


We sit together at lunch.
You and Jenny exchange insults
while I pick at my salad.
I feel your phone vibrate
against my leg.
You pretend you don’t.
You’ll delete the message later,
like you can erase your sins with the press of a button.

I watch you in gym,
waiting to see if the sweat cracks your mask.
When you flick your hair out of your impossibly
blue eyes, the girls all sigh.
“She’s so lucky,” they whisper. “I wonder what he’s like in bed.”

They don’t need to wonder.
All they need to do is ask.

Ask her.


I used to love the way you watched me.
The way your mouth wrapped around my name,
the way you blushed when I kissed you in
the hallway.

I loved the way you loved me.

Now your love is a noose,
my guilt the rope,
slowly dragging me upward.

One of these day the toes of my
sneakers will drag across these
gym floors before
going up,

Because one of these days,
you’ll know.


I wait for you in your
beat up old chevy.

You smile when you see me.
The light makes your golden hair shine
and my breath leaves my chest
in a gasp.

You’re perfect.

“Hey.” You press your mouth against my
sun-warmed shoulder. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” I still do.
 Even though you’re right next to me,
I miss you so bad my heart actually aches.
“Can I come over tonight?”

Your lips leave my skin.
“I’m busy tonight, how about tomorrow?”

It’s always tomorrow.


I’m trapped.
Admitting it makes me
a pussy, but it’s the truth.
I can’t escape her.

I tried tonight.
I told her it was over,
that I couldn’t keep doing this.

I let her hit me,
let her scream and throw things.
I took my punishment.

But now it’s three am
and I’m reaching for my
phone, already
her mouth


So that's that. What are some of the stories that dwell in your trunk?

1 comment:

  1. This is really good stuff. You sure you don't want to write it?