Working back from goodbye

These last 3 months
I just finished making lunch about an hour ago, I always think of him when i cook, he was my cook after all — alas everything i make is brown, but the flavor is better, i used to make a very pretty plate but bland, so bland
speaking of brown, so are assholes, the very deep dark center of them, naked with tongues inserting cavities of men you wished we’re your husband, on a scratchy polyester floors, drunken in the middle of the night, pleasing yet disgust like a plate of delicious, brown, mushiness.
Tho i guess in retrospect Casey couldn’t cook at all in the end, every thing he made then was brownish and stinking your mouth up with bitter cloven hooves of a beast of a meal. I must smoke,…

Our first three
I’m still avoiding things, like feelings, emotions, gut instincts, and everything that would qualify me as female, or a girl anyways. I cannot be a girl now, shit! I’m almost 30 yrs old- never wanted to be one anyways, i used to wish i was a boy when i was young. but he made me his lady and i bought him a house. He loved me like a forbidden pomegranate running red off his chin, sticky and staining his heart, so I took him to Mexico to live forever, we only lasted a month as we couldn’t find a house. He was the most metro-alpha man not worthy of me to speak to the preppy boy i dreamed about in high school, and he stopped to talk to me, to wash dishes together atfer hours and laugh and bitch together, so i slipped him the first annonymis love note scribbled in lip liner and snuck into a greasy BNQ shirt breast poket. It read: the scent of this shirt makes me wanna Fuck!

~ by lostwidow on 2008/01/29.