virgin

When I first met you, I was intimidated, I soon found out, that you were gentle but rotted with porn.

The sex in your head, the visions of me—when you told me I was beautiful, you made sure your friends could not hear you.

Any other time, it was dripping in lust, only when I was naked. Only when I was soft, valuable to you. pale tan colored clay, in your hands.

You saw through my translucent skin, broke my skull open and did not like what you found.

I am corrupt at my core, but you are a derogatory weed-head. I wanted to think you liked more, but you never would admit that you felt anything.

The storm of peach fog out of your lips, the wires coming out of your wrists, were you a machine made to torment me, when I touched your scarred arms, and you touch my thighs.

You were gentle, trying to make me think I was being discerning, made it seem like you were earning my body. But once the switch flips, I start to perform and let go of the fear in my stomach, there’s no need to love me.

Once I was yours, I could be used up. I ran dry quicker than you anticipated, I started to cover myself in cloth, let myself speak of non-vulgarity, you pulled away like a noose.

My face is pixelated as you touch me, lagging, glitching, low resolution— you ask if it’s okay, I laugh out loud, crawling into you. The shift, my legs twitch, I loved you on the car ride home, a day later I wanted you off.

The vomit lining my throat as your voice is ringing in my empty hallway of a head. Echoing in the red walls, piercing through them like a septum.

Inflating my ego, deflating my youth. The soft subliminal sounds of a video on the internet playing in front of you, more peach fog, in a ghost from your mouth.

I lay naked on the floor, outline of me in the shadows of the room, your mouth is parted open, your voice is low. You don’t believe in God, I understand why now.