Do you know what? I loved a piece of jerk. In an illusory, stupid, childish way. Nothing had hurt me so much as leaving you. Because I had to choose to do that. I still can't understand how you didn't realize everything I felt for you and your ungrateful psychopathic skin.
I miss taking hold of you. I miss disarming from a total crash against your body. Know God, I need sex. Something hurts inside me, it spreads and is physical. My body remembers in its bones the shape of yours. But why did you have to be so son of all the prostitutes abandoned by the universe?
Why? Because you didn't recognize that you were bad, even though you thought about me once, a slut. Why are you so robotically cold? Why don't you give some crumbs of tenderness? Why do you get into my dreams? Why do I wake up just when I'm about to kiss you for the first time? Why do I feel on my skin the shards of fire from your semen pouring out in a brutal orgasm? And I, hot and full of the disgusting dissatisfaction of my empty sex. My winter sex.
Masturbating with the fury of needing it to be another hand that gives me pleasure. Your hand. So perfectly knew me. How astute you stole my limits and joys. Masturbating sad. Trapped between the walls of this solitude into which I threw myself, suicidal and resentful, after your passage through my life. Not knowing how to get out. Trying paths in a labyrinth where no Ariadna lost wool threads.
And I find you again. And it hurts me again. And I disappear from you again, among the fragile sprouts of a small love of mine, and a tornado of desires to cry. Again I kept silent what I wanted. Again I survived your demands and requirements.
It hurts. Shit. It hurts. I feel exhausted after this skirmish with you. Sick of your jerkiness and all the idiots who populate this world and are a copy of yours. I want some calm. I want to forget about your miseries and mine. I want another chapter in my life, with someone who will stay with me until the end comes. And I'm waiting, hopeful.
Because I don't know how to not have hope, even though now it's just a bunch of loose ends. What's left after crossing paths with a foolish and naive person like you, son of a slut.
I miss taking hold of you. I miss disarming from a total crash against your body. Know God, I need sex. Something hurts inside me, it spreads and is physical. My body remembers in its bones the shape of yours. But why did you have to be so son of all the prostitutes abandoned by the universe?
Why? Because you didn't recognize that you were bad, even though you thought about me once, a slut. Why are you so robotically cold? Why don't you give some crumbs of tenderness? Why do you get into my dreams? Why do I wake up just when I'm about to kiss you for the first time? Why do I feel on my skin the shards of fire from your semen pouring out in a brutal orgasm? And I, hot and full of the disgusting dissatisfaction of my empty sex. My winter sex.
Masturbating with the fury of needing it to be another hand that gives me pleasure. Your hand. So perfectly knew me. How astute you stole my limits and joys. Masturbating sad. Trapped between the walls of this solitude into which I threw myself, suicidal and resentful, after your passage through my life. Not knowing how to get out. Trying paths in a labyrinth where no Ariadna lost wool threads.
And I find you again. And it hurts me again. And I disappear from you again, among the fragile sprouts of a small love of mine, and a tornado of desires to cry. Again I kept silent what I wanted. Again I survived your demands and requirements.
It hurts. Shit. It hurts. I feel exhausted after this skirmish with you. Sick of your jerkiness and all the idiots who populate this world and are a copy of yours. I want some calm. I want to forget about your miseries and mine. I want another chapter in my life, with someone who will stay with me until the end comes. And I'm waiting, hopeful.
Because I don't know how to not have hope, even though now it's just a bunch of loose ends. What's left after crossing paths with a foolish and naive person like you, son of a slut.
11 comentários - Hijo de Puta
no te conozco pero me gustaria ver una foto tuya para ver como sos y que se perdio ese pelotudo
un placer para el lector 😉
Muy bueno 👏 👏 👏 👏 👏
Te mando un beso y escribis muy bien!
Excelente!