I may be through with you

by Lillian Ann Slugocki


It may be over between us.  After what I've been through;  the lies of the canon, the lies of the religion, your  kiss, your hard cock, your yin,  my yang, I don't know I might be through with you.  It might be over. 

I might hate you. 



I was the drunk girl who passed out after licking peppermint schnapps off your dick, but you decided to fuck me anyway, I might hate you for that.  When I woke up, you were inside me.  I might hate you for that.

I might hate the 30 year old married man polishing his silver Corvette on a hot August afternoon.   The girl you desire is 15 years old.  That girl's arms are pinned against a rocky promontory as you enter her.  If she moves one inch, she is dead.  I might have to hate you for that, too.   

The formal you, meaning all of you.

You owned a restaurant, I was a regular, when everybody left, you locked the door, pushed me against the bar, screamed,  “I'm a cop and you're resisting arrest.”  Remember how I had to talk you down? 



I might hate you for that.

The formal you, meaning all of you.

I've been trying to love you.  It's not working.


Please send help.