I thought about you this afternoon.

I thought about how I haven’t thought about you.

I thought about how you won’t be able to say my name to me again. 

I’m thinking about you now. 

I’m thinking about if you’ve attempted to contact me because I wouldn’t know. 

I’m thinking about how much effort I don’t have to put into keeping myself from contacting you because I don’t fucking care.

I’m thinking about our sex. 

I know how to separate the two.

That famous line goes “it’s me, it’s not you”

It’s me. 

I was our sex.

You were just good at channeling. 

I cared once.

I don’t fucking care anymore.

You don’t fucking care. 

You were just good at channeling.

Now, there’s nothing to channel.

There is no longer a channel. 

I don’t fuck with you. 



pry open my mouth. dig past my deep throat and expose my words before i swallow them. force yourself inside me and give these words life. expose them for what they really are without the fancy prose i hide behind often. sometimes i nearly choke because of the restraint. I’m holding back. make me release. make me submit. make me trust you. make me purge.