♡

All we did was sit around, the same faces, bad makeup, in the same shitty kitchen drinking the same shitty wine -  thinking we were oh-so-different, ash on the floor that high heels slammed through one Saturday night in November, the same wooden boards we all sat on to receive tattoos; I don’t know about the others, but mine are proving painful and  expensive to remove. It was within those walls that I learned to weaponise romance - to use my cunt to build a wall around my heart, since it’s hard to trust when  you’re surrounded by assholes. I remember fucking on a mattress covered in broken glass, and no, that’s not poetic license my thighs really bled, and I have no idea but I hope  he has scars on his back, he deserves them; being dragged onto the neighbours’ roof and sang to, singing lovesongs, spouting nonsense of how a silly boy loved an idea of a girl, any girl and decided to throw that idea at me and thought it spoke of my heart, not his, when I saw right through that rooftop bullshit (I fucked him anyway,        I remember it as uneventful.) Our lipstick prints remained on the walls until they knocked it down -  what didn’t stay were the smashed windows from various parties, the roadside couches we made our own, the thousand useless memories  of lovers I no longer like;  friends who never call or write, though I think that trend started with me anyway; doors that shook on their hinges  from one too many slams, greying walls with pictures painted up and down the skirting, cracked paint and beer bottles lining the back yard. I hated that house.

Me as a lawyer

here's the tea