the passenger // styles

xii / her stories include his lies

I like the way a strangers hand feels on scarred skin

That belongs to

Me

He 

Doesn’t have a name

That I know of

But his personality unfolds with each thrust

In 

My head he loves me

And not just because I cling to him

With desperation

Love me

Is synonymous with 

Fuck me

And he loves rough

So I come

When he calls

A name that isn’t mine

Or is it

I lose myself when I find him

Hiding behind a loneliness

That mirrors my own

Realizations 

That frighten me more than the oblivious 

“Are you okay?”

I don’t trust my voice.

My concerns are insignificant

As he pushes himself harder

Into a place 

He should run from

My psyche

Or what’s left of my

Mind

Body

Soul

Searching for an entity

Willing to become one

And with bleak irony he pulls out

And releases

Our temporary unity

So I finish myself off

And he calls a cab

And I call my mom

And soon she’s home

With a tired smile

And sleepy eyes

That look around

Not quite knowing

That

Ignorance isn’t bliss

But apathy

Part II:

This stranger

Smells like regret

Even before we anonymously touch

Intimately

He fucks like we’re in love

But he’s just imagining 

I’m someone else 

Who likes when he caresses 

Their back when they kiss

Passionately he moans a name

That is mine

But sounds foreign

And familiar at the same time

Paradox realities

Where he cares about me

Exist

While I sleep off the sex

That sticks to my body

Like damp clothes

On a muggy mid-morning

Night falls

And he’s been gone for hours

But that scent still lingers

Regret

I don’t regret you as much as I should

Part III:

It’s a girl this time

And she opens her legs almost

Instantly

I know she’s been looking for love

In the form of an orgasm

She can’t get

From the male anatomy

The monotony has her searching

For something different

Like an emotionally damaged being

Who lives to

Serve

My purpose

Becomes clear

And I let her cry

On my fully clothed stomach

After she groaned into a climax

Tinged with the empty satisfaction

That is both short lived

And never ending

Part IV:

He asked if I consider myself

A slut

And here it is

Hours later

And I’m still lying naked

With cold sweat covering

A hollow body

And 

A question that doesn’t need an answer

But has one anyway

Part V:

My hands explore

My body

And it’s different

Although not entirely new

Old memories

Of a harmless curiosity 

Seem foreign 

Among this focused intent

I am alone tonight

But there is no difference

Because

The warm bodies always leave me feeling

Frozen

Summer fades

And my days are no longer free

But the night air is infinite

And for a few seconds I actually feel 

Like living

A while longer.