a toast to death -cos drinking is scarier than dying and i do that every day anyways

we tried to do what we should
sober and productive –
then they came with beer at midnight –
they always come with beer,
someone does

65 beers they brought, and we began drinking
dancing jitters crawl under our skin
it begins, following shortly after
the warm-chested cold-throated
become more devoted
to the night —
we were excited, now, always
excited for nothing
just alcohol and any opportunities shining through

my best friend and I agreed, then,
we laughed about how
we weren’t afraid to die –
but we’d rather die together than anywhere

and here was another boy with us, too-
I knew he’d be my lover
that night

he said after a kiss,
“I don’t fuck anyone
the first time I sleep with them,”
I scoffed cos he was full of shit,
took him to my room
and fucked a new
into his groans and
lonely tones-
like my own.

I stopped making love
after the boy i loved left
now I just had sex-
not regretful, not shamed
to show off to strangers
that I was dangerous
and they surely couldn’t keep up..

I called him ‘baby,’
I kind of meant it.

He liked me, I knew it.
We cuddled in bed, try to sleep at 4:30am,
expected to wake at 8:30, we knew.
He started snoring -I did not sleep, didn’t need
or anyone’s company-
just their sex.

I’m free cos
I’m free—
death, love, sex, intimacy,
being left,
it doesn’t scare me.
All that scares me is
myself, cigarettes, and drinking –

::Undeniably Addicting::
a cycle of obscene-
death, release, not anymore so frightening



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