Stumbling and smelling of stale gasoline...

Most guys, when you tell them you "accidentally blew the cabby" get a nice soft rubbery one at the thought that if they were to buy you enough drinks, they too could get some head. I on the other hand am not turned on by this thought. I'm turned on at the thought that here is someone who is so beautiful, so talented, and yet they can't see it. They hate themselves on levels I could only dream of. You my darling make self-loathing look like fashion. I want you drunk and ashamed, messed up dyed curls in your hair from sleeping on your back in a friends hotel, who you didn't mean to fuck but these things just happen. You regret the last 6 hours, but smile at the thought of them. Your clothes are dirty and stiff because you've been wearing them all evening, you left your sox at the hotel room, your tired, confused-This is make me my heart go through my stomach and to my feet.- I want you for this.

You Always hear me wine about how I haven't been with someone in over a year (which is for the most part 90% true). You probably wonder why I haven't made a play at you yet or just grabbed you by the hand and dragged you back to my room to put a few holes in the dry wall by the couch.  Why? Because if I were to do any of that, and you were to go along with it-it'd be something neither of us are ready for. It'd be the filthy vulgar sex you've always wanted, you want dick fuck a porn star, but you want to get fucked the right way- fuck a poet. You haven't been with a poet yet. You've been with posers. 

Every guy you get with is just out to use you, and ones who aren't really want to use to their own ends-to tame you. I don't want to tame you. I like you the way you are. If i were to fuck you, you'd find yourself tame, and I'd find myself bored.

I want you my precious pretentious pseudo-slut intellectual, I want you! I want to skin my knees with you from having too many drinks. I want to get into arguments with you, annoy you, bother you, piss you off so much that you find yourself thinking about me at weirdest moments-and hate yourself for it. I want to fight with you so I can have make up sex with you after. I want to wonder where you are. I want to get drunk and bang on classy restaurant windows screaming and pantomiming "My dick been all up in yo' drank nigga." I want fuck you in public. I want to fuck you in Private. I want to fuck you on film and put on porn tube. 

And I can't. Do you know why? Because secretly- I hate myself more than you ever could know. I'm not what you need right now and I'm not ready for the emotional roller coaster that would ensue getting involved with you. For now I'll just relish in our time and cigarettes together, and  I'll always have one to spare if you'll share with me a story of  the night before. I'll be that friend whose always going to laugh with you, ready to trounce the bastard who takes advantage of women in your position. A woman of your status comes home with all sorts of love bites my dear, but if any of them are ever unwanted- gimme a call. I'll have the matter sorted out in a number of hours.

I want to crash all my pieces into you and fuck you silly, and sooner or later I will. But not until the timing is right. For right now I'll medicate my head, and dream i had the courage to call you up here.