other

irony is being stuck in your customized, personal hell, triggered by memories which send you into free fall bile at the base of your stomach as a silent scream escapes your throat. that dark place no one can pull you out of with the exception of your tormentor, who alone can be your savior but they chafe at the reminder of the transgressions they wish to bury hoping you forget they ever happened your cry for help sends them into tailspin until they, too, are stuck in their own personal, customized hell incapacitated  from climbing into yours to save you. so you both suffer, alone and in silence.

i wonder  how many women  hate me from a distance  because they know i'm having  the best sex of their lives?

i cut his toenails  and he shaves me never mind where intimacy we share sloughing keratin off our bodies no two are ever truly together until they begin grooming each other.

bubbles. effervescence in a flute of champagne. inviting. intoxicating. bubbles. bathwater in colorful splendor. fragile. fractal. bubbles. a fit of flatulence underwater. amusing. accusing. bubbles. she did it! > < he did it!  (pop!)

you touch me and I am fire. enticing inviting igniting the dark embers of my soul you, scarred stranger stoke my thoughts dreams desires we meet, yearn, touch merge, meld soar. once again I am woman.

pardon my potty mouth. i'm a good girl with a bad experience with a good man who made bad decisions. 

this font is called georgia.  i hate georgia. the state but not the font. i like the font. georgia, on the other hand, georgia-the-state, can go fuck itself like you two fucked in georgia. fuck marietta. fuck dahlonega. fuck your  four-day-in-total one-day-in-december (28, marietta) three-days-in-february (9 to 11, dahlonega) fuckfest in georgia.