Defeated. Weepy and running out of reasons I sat with a glint of hope that I’d finally become something. Then ever so gently he blushed. My panties got wet and my head swirled. And the secrets dripped outta me. Clear, pink, bloody. He’s seen me every season. He danced me into myself, into the woman I didn’t think to become.
His words they get under me and make me wanna punch him in the face. In a good way. They pull me so close I can feel him inside me. They trap me his words. We slit our bellies beneath the full moon and exchange our insides for magic. His hands on my bloody hips, our eyes towards the sky. The crows they make funny shapes then dart down and peck out the eyes of small children. It’s so sad it makes my bones ache. There’s spit and cum and the scent…
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