Froggin Alone

I don’t want to be fucking alone.

Moving hips, up and down, back and forth.

Away and back again.

In and out and gone and back and there you go again.

Goodbye.

 

Heat spreading upwards but going nowhere.

It’s slick but it hurts still the same,

like we’re wrapped in barbed wire.

 

I fucking hate fucking alone.

My hands slip on the sweat but I feel so cold.

Maybe I’m slipping away from here.

Maybe I’ll fall and wherever I go it’s okay.

 

I can’t keep fucking alone.

My eyes meet eyes in between the grimace

but they’re blank when they see me.

They don’t search mine for wonder or pleasure.

 

It’s as if two strangers just passed on the street.

Oh, there you are existing where you are

while I exist right here.

I wonder if that means anything.

Probably not.

 

In the end I can feel a body roll to the other side of the world onto the bedrock.

 

I am not fucking alone.

I am just alone.

This is better, it is.

Better.

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