I want to tell you a story
I can promise neither a Disney-flavored ending
Nor a tale dripping with the scent of good family fun
In fact, I think that this story requires parental supervision
Can you give an autobiography a rating like a movie?
Why is it that we all seem so much more scandalous on screen?
When imagination is superfluous, do reservations prevail?
Here’s the thing, Tiger
You and I, we won’t make it
I can see you shaking that pretty head of yours
But I promised you from the beginning that I wasn’t going to lie
Our eyes are going to meet from across the room
We’ll look past the mutilated bodies and the mountains of cocaine
You’ll glance up and smile at me just after taking a particularly potent hit
I’ll wink at you just as I’m pulling the syringe out of my arm
No, no, not the arm
Tonight, it is the back of my knee
There are a lot of tracks that I’ll run in life
But some of them you were never meant to see
You are never going to tell me the truth
Not completely
You’re going to fill our bed with half truths and insecure doubts
Or maybe that was me
I’m going to tell you how beautiful you really are and
Dear God
You’re going to hate me for it
We all need something to hate
Pause ||
Do you need an intermission, Champ?
Take a break, get some water to replace the tears that you’re sure to shed
Then again, maybe that was me, too
Rewind <<|
Play >
We all need something to hate
Sometimes after we’re done fucking, I’m going to despise you
I’m going to hate the way you taste
No
I’m not
I am only going to hate how your words feel while nibbling on my earlobe
Their favorite meal is my ego, which they devour with infantile eagerness and desperate need
I won’t stop it, though
I’ll only glare at you, the taste of your orgasm still on my tongue
When you say nothing, I’ll turn my back
Secretly hoping that you will place your calloused hand on my shoulder and say something
Anything
To combat the silence
But you won’t
Ever
And I will wallow in my own self-induced misery while maintaining the stubborn silence
Every night you’ll tell me that you love me
And I’ll believe you
I don’t know why
You’re like a god, high on your throne among mere mortals
I’ll turn my head toward you one day and I’ll swear for a second that your throne is made from the anxieties and fear that you elicit from me
But only for a second
When I come back to my senses, I’ll realize that your throne is made of nothing so abstract
(How could you sit on that, anyway?)
But rather something concrete like the boys you got bored with before me
Eventually, I’m going to grow tired of the constant feelings of inadequacy
And you’re going to be sick of my inconsistencies
You’re going to grow bored
And I’ll be so weak
I won’t even CARE
One more hit, one more bump
One more round of sex because, fuck, we’re such fantastic lovers
I’ll enter you slowly and then tear you apart
I’ll do to your cunt what you did to my heart
So ironic, ‘cause you’ll like it
You’ll moan my name and call me Daddy, won’t you baby boy?
Your little tan body will tremble oh so beautifully
And, honestly, it’ll be so hard for me to let you go
You’ll run right, I’ll crawl left
You north, I south
I’ll lick my lips as I dream about you
But you’ll only see me when your vision is filled with a cloud of white
Are you still listening, Chief?
Are you still lucid?
This story hasn’t ended yet
Grimm hasn’t collected the conclusion to this tale
You know what really happened to the Little Mermaid?
She drowned
Baby, I love to swim
For a while, I will hold the belief that you will save me
But by the end of our story I’ll realize that you were only saving fish from drowning.
