your sweet curse set me off to become the man that can no longer feel. a numb body in a torturous world.
the beige curtains sway against the breeze, the metallic hooks making small screeching noises as it dances aimlessly.
sweet curses escape her pink lips, her back arching to the rhythm of his tongue. nothing on either of their minds other than to please each other.
the satin red sheets crumple under their weight. the headrest hits the scratched wall behind it in small thumps.
midnight whores is what they call the women who come to the small motel just to have fun with another man. purple and red spots cover their necks and jaw, creating a painting with the colors of pleasure and give them all the hues of a cheater.
strings of curses and names are exchanged between the two, one saying it with full passion, the other saying it through drunken slurs and temporary feelings.
a drunken whore is what you are darling, so much so the passion in your voice is as fake as the lips that that passion escapes from.
-
filler.
