You are wordy as fuck, and sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut because people can see the deep dark soul through the back of your throat. You want to write about your sexploits? Here’s one for you: late at night, drunken, groping, whispered, “no, no, no” as your hands freely roam and my mouth turns sour because you said you loved me. But love isn’t waiting for someone to change, and I’ve still got my calendar counting all the days until you said it’d be better. And every other time it was, “No, no wait,” because you’re always fucking up and I just can’t hate your stupid smile that used to exist. Now you just have hollow eyes and jagged breathing from all the harm you do to your body in an attempt to cover your mind in chastity and sleep. So, you sleep with her. And now you’re empty. Is anyone supposed to care? Go ahead, paint this as liberation when your mother tells you this is a mistake. I am no longer succinct, but at least my hands don’t rape.