Foetus.

She tells me she is pregnant,
At least, that’s what I
think she said.

I wasn’t listening,
Well, not to her anyway.

I had a book open in front of me,
and the TV was on.

I was somewhere else,
my eyes fixed on static.
Or at the words, invading the page
like ants.

So, when she tells me.
I just nod.

Like I care, or at least,
like I heard her.

She may have started crying.
But, to tell the truth

I was so high,
I couldn't even remember her name.

But that thing inside her,
the um, foetus.

I guess it was mine.

I had to say something,
So I told her that I’d cheated on her.

With some girl I met in the same park
where I met her.

Or fucked her, or something.

She screamed at me,
Slammed the door.

I didn’t see her again,
Until after the car accident.
She was asleep,
or in a coma.

I stared at her for a few moments,
Like maybe I was
about to cry.

But her family were there,
and I felt uncomfortable,
So I left.

I never went back.

She died a few weeks later
I didn't go to the funeral.

I didn't think it was important.

It's not like we were in love.
Or anything like that.

Limits.

Yeah I gave her a black eye.
That's my problem.

I wanted to destroy her.
Or maybe myself,
or whatever.

She didn't even flinch,
her face showed no emotion.
So I hit her again.

It doesn't mean I loved her any less.

I wanted to keep on punching her,
until she was no longer recognisable.

I wanted to keep on punching her,
until she could no longer speak.

Not that she spoke much anyway.
She just stared at me,
vacant, stoned.

So yeah,
I gave her a black eye.

It doesn't mean I'm a misogynistic arsehole.

I just get bored easily.

Snapshot.

I remember that picture she sent me,
of her chest.

She must have been sixteen.

I was old enough to know that
it probably wasn't legal.

But I jerked off to it anyway.

A few minutes later
I recieved another photo.
The camera was angled between her open thighs.

It was blurred, like maybe it was a snapshot
from some unknown foreign movie.

I stared at it until my eyes watered.

Trying to find something,
that was probably never there.

At that point there was
nothing between me and her.
Just her skin and my skin
Almost touching...

My beating heart,
and an image of her.
Captured forever.

It was as close to fucking her,
as I ever got.

Fucked.

I fucked up. I know.

I probably should have given you a ring.
Spending all my money on
alcohol and cigarettes

is no excuse.

The ocean still reminds me of you.

So, I moved as far away as I possibly could.

I still remember that last night,
In your car.

You were wearing your purple dress,
I was smoking far too much.
I still do.

We drove north, found the river.
Camped for the night.

I wish we could have kept driving,
never looking back.

The city behind us. No regrets.
I tried, without you.

A week later I had to come back.

My guitar strings broke,
I still can't sing in tune.

That night, it rained.
And we held onto each other,
naked under the blanket.

As waves crashed beneath us,
I slowly pushed myself inside you.
You smiled, as I kissed your neck,
kissed your breasts.

Maybe it was perfect.

I guess all I want to say is,
I fucked up
and I'm sorry.

I know that it's too late.

Arsehole.

That boy you’re with
He is an arsehole.

Let’s be honest.

You screamed,
And he called you a cunt.
He threw a bottle of wine at you.

Or maybe that was me.

I no longer remember.

Once upon a time we swore that no amount
Of alcohol would make us forget.

That place in the park,
Where I went down on you.
In the rain.

It seemed romantic at the time.
But that place is no longer there.

It vanished the moment you cried rape.

So, I called you a cunt, and wasted a good bottle of wine.
But maybe that’s not the point.

We all have regrets,

I just wish that mine weren’t aimed so badly.

Nebraska.

Yeah I drink Gin too,
so what?
Sure, my favourite Springsteen
album is 'Nebraska'.
It means nothing.

At one point we even smoked the
Same brand of cigarettes,

Not anymore.
I can move on,
Can you?

And maybe I stole the underwear you were
wearing the night you lost your virginity.

I was there,
It doesn't mean I own you.

The black headband around my wrist,
reminds me of hospitals, oceans and parks.
But not you.

It was the night I scrawled
"Will you marry me?"
In chalk on the balcony wall.

You just smiled, drunk.
And looked away.

And I knew that it was over.

So I keep drinking Gin.
And I listen to that one Springsteen album.

But in the end,
it still means nothing.

Try.

“I want you to fuck me like a boy…”
She reaches into her backpack,
Removes a brown paper bag
And tosses it onto the bed next to me.

I am too stoned to notice/care.

“Huh?” I look up, my eyes glazed.
She smiles, weakly and removes her skirt.

Her skin is smooth, like a child.
Maybe I am staring.

My cock remains unmoved.

I grab the bag and look inside,
It contains a book and a clear tube of lubricant.

“So, you’re serious?” I ask.
Mostly out of boredom.

I take out the book.
The pages are yellowed with nicotine stains.

I open it up, read out a random sentence.

“So, what’s your opinion of Husker Du?”

She doesn’t understand.
I couldn’t care less.
She takes off her shirt.
I light a cigarette.

Her small breasts make me feel like a paedophile.

Tangled hair covers her face.

She crawls onto the bed, her perfect arse facing me.
I unzip my pants, still there is no movement.

She licks two fingers, slides them slowly inside herself.

She moans.

I throw the half smoked cigarette onto the floor
and get up and leave the room.

In the bedroom, I can hear her softly moaning.
In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of wine.

I sit down on the cold tile floor,
Stare at the empty fridge.
And I start to cry.

Faggot.

I remember looking up from the book
and wondering where he had been.
His eyes watered,
the colour of chrome.

"Last night I fucked with the angel..."
He whispered.

I looked at him as though I understood.

Standing there, trembling at the door
he wanted me. And somewhere deep inside me
I knew that.

"So what now?"
I asked, as if reading from a script.

He shrugged,
as if he didn't know or didn't care.

I turned away from him,
reached for a cigarette.

And when I looked back he was gone.