Nothing brings two people together like raw, unadulterated desperation. Not the miserable bastard variety. That’s the kind of sad, sappy shit that makes people like us want to bust some skulls open. It’s not about waiting by the phone, hoping that someone will call…
What I mean is the all consuming need to destroy, and to be destroyed.
Bodies slamming against eachother so viciously that you split skin and snap bones. Until you’re being used so hard that you’re pulverized; you’re getting fucked, like you’re being fucked over; you’re really just fucking over yourself.
Let’s make one thing perfectly clear. He doesn’t love me… never did, never will. He’s not that stupid. I’m not a woman. I’m a dark, moist grave where he’s burying the worst parts of himself in.
I’m not fond of him. I’m not that daft. He’s not a man. He’s a blunt, hard spike that I’m impaling the weakest parts of myself on.
We’re into eachother the way we’re into self-punishment, mutual contempt, suicidal tendencies, or nihilistic bedtime stories. My cunt is the void that sucks the meaning out of his story. His cock is the edge that cuts off my narrative.
We’re not looking to relate, or connect. That’s why we do. Yeah, we relate to one another like two middle fingers thrust in the face of normalcy. We connect like an unstoppable force and an immovable object.
Together, we’re a big bang of angry nothing.
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Inspired by: Normal
Could you be any more romantic?
