She hates me now, and she hated the only time I
fucked her up the ass.
But she’ll ask for it, letting each man do that first
until finally she’ll love it.
I can still only masturbate to her.
Masturbating with a broken heart.
Using the tears as lube.
I cry now because I never punched her in the face.
I cry now because I’m not brave enough to punch
myself in the face, but I have found the guts to
shoot myself in the mouth through a bottle of whiskey.
And now I have glass in my eye.
Filed under: Issue 2, Roberto Beltran
