Fuck OK

After writing this, you think I would cry for myself, for the filthy, stinking turd that my life has become. But I do not. I have engulfed and gorged myself far too many times to care.

I forgot how it feels to be regular, to walk the streets and not be mistaken for a roach-infested junkie whore.

I have forgotten what it feels like not to be constantly slammed and poked and prodded by filthy slugs.

What does it feel like?

Are you okay, hon?

I hate that fucking question. I have always hated it.

Am I ok?

And the stupid shit-filled turd-mouth asking it wants a one-word answer. I'd like to meet the fucking plug that can honestly answer that question in one word and rip out their larynx because surely they are worthless. They are retarded and should never be allowed to utter another word and deserve nothing in their mouths except for a big, red horse cock.

Asking me if I'm ok...what fucking nerve. What a fucking personal question. Why don't you ask me how I would feel if I was given the limp dead body of my son? That's about as sick and personal a question.

Endless, it seems, a never-ending parade of depravity seems to rule my life. Smelly dirty cocks, women with their come-fuck-me miniskirts barely stretching over their monstrous thighs. The men with their cocks. The women with their bloated faces that make great extensions to those decayed shafts, or at least they think so.

What can they do to make this happen? How much does it cost? A dinner? A drink? A compliment? We are all whores. I know you. I know them.

I do not know why men want to put their dicks into me instead of say the stump of a tree or a coke bottle.

Why some men want me to burn them with cigarettes . . . or piss on me . . . or eat out my asshole?

I have never been "sexy". I can't be. I'm eleven years old, for fuck's sake, and that bastard is making me suck his fat dick in his parents' basement. Licking and sucking his hard-on and squeezing his balls and hoping that he comes before he kills me. All while the television blares blithering nonsense that I am trying to pay attention to. His dick looks just like yours, motherfucker, and you don't fool me for one fucking minute. You owe me even for my fucking time, you cocksucker.

I shouldn't be doing this.

This is not supposed to happen.

How did I get this way?

Did they teach me this in Sunday School?

How did I learn to be such a filthy whore?

A hole to suck and fuck.

When he fucks my mouth, he fucks my whole history. His way of celebrating women's lib and Gloria Steinem. He comes on me--me, the walking dead.

I feel and suffer my slow inexorable death. I am the terminally Ill. A pariah. An untouchable. The unloved and unlovable. The lowest of the low. Scarred from a year in bed.