Cock! A Roach!

All I can see is roaches. Everywhere. In my house. On my keyboard. When i press a key, they all scatter in different directions. They’re different sizes. Different colors. On my TV. In my toothbrush. In my bed. Crawling on my walls. Creeping all over me when I’m sleeping. In the bar. At work. In my cereal.

All I see is gummy chaw. Bite marks. And bruises. All over my arms, legs, and holes. My knees look like I have been sucking dick in the alley for five dollars a pop. It’s terrible. I don't know where they come from, but they are there.

The bruises. The roaches. Everywhere.

My shit-stained, sweaty asshole is rife with remnants of the cottage cheese cum from two hours ago. Luckily it is all from one man. Yes, I am now on the monogamy train.

The roaches are still all I see. I still feel the disgust. But I know that 15,000 dicks are no longer in me. Only one. He is here. There is no getting rid of him now. I have now convinced myself I like it. I think...but I don't.

I am so afraid I have become one of them. Them. The ones who glom onto any sad white trash Neanderthal who will drop them a sad drop of pathetic attention. I feel I am using him. I want to stop fucking random people. I hate using people. But I know he is using me as well.

To him, I am a body. Someone to fuck. Someone who looks good who he can show off to his friends. A pretty face. And maybe nothing else, considering he can't understand me any more than he could a normal houseplant. And how could he?

I don't let him in. I can't. I get him. I think, and know exactly what he wants. You get to know a lot about a man when his dick is in your ass. I don't think I can handle it much longer.

He brings out a beast in me that is rarely seen. In my personality. A manic monster. A beast that comes from this beautiful, disgusting place. I need to quell it, though, because I believe this beast will kill me.

The only way I know and am used to dealing with all of this is with drugs. Pop a pill. Stick a needle in my arm. Crack a bottle. Drinking, using. It's all the same. I don't know if I can deal with this one.

Even licensed doctors agree with me. They say “Lil P, I'll prescribe you this pill, but you will sleep a lot.”

“Well, Doc,” I say, “if I take the dosage I am supposed to take I sleep for forty hours.” I tried once.

Maybe he knows exactly what he is doing. Maybe that is my best state. Comatose. Asleep. Dead. Whatever. The story of "Sleeping Beauty", "Snow White", many fairy tales describe dead bitches who are saved by necrophiliac princes who come and basically "kiss"--or in modern terms "fuck"--their dead bodies and they suddenly wake up. I equate myself with these comatose, drugged-out whores.

This is me. I am sick. I need to be rescued. I am afraid of leaving this relationship. What will I become? Will I go back to fucking every guy in a bar? Or will I find another "relationship" because I am too scared of fucking everyone?

There is a medium somewhere, but I do not think I can find it. It is sad, but it is me. I miss when there was one. At a time there was. I was in relationships for six years, then fucking every random person for two. Now starting relationships again.

Never will I be one of those fucks that runs from relationship to relationship. I've always abhorred them. Now more than ever. Why do I need that? I need myself. But Myself is not doing much for Myself right now.

So fuck relationships. Fuck all this bullshit. It needs to stop. It is depressing. I will never know what is best. Everything is so different than what I have known.

Look. Roaches.