vodka decisions
Two beers became vodka,
the devil wore her eyes.
She’d been staring for a year
tonight she finally claimed her prize.
Clothes hit the floor like surrender,
my first time, raw and blind.
It felt divine for a moment,
like someone still wanted what’s left of my mind.
But when she moved on top,
pain cut through the haze
like my body was warning me
this wasn’t the escape.
Morning came cruel and quiet,
the high already turning gray.
A text on the screen: “Monday again.”
My stomach twisted either way.
Now the flashbacks hit when I close my eyes,
her mouth, the heat, the blur.
Part of me wants to run it back,
another part whispers: what the fuck are you man?
I killed the lover boy to survive,
burned him slow in the flame.
Yet here I am chasing the same hunger,
just wearing a different name.
Friends say they don’t recognize me.
I smile cold and say nothing back.
How do I explain the violence it took
just to keep standing after the attack?
Links.