I am such a cunt for still laughing each time I read this poem. you don’t know how it felt to be in the womb but it must have been at least a little warmer than this. you don’t know how intimately they’re recording your every move on closed-circuit cameras until you see your face reflected back at you through through the pulp. you don’t know how to stop picking at your fingers. you don’t know how little you’ve been paying attention until you look down at your legs again. you don’t know how many times you can say you’re coming until they just stop believing you. you don’t know how orgasmic the act of taking in a lungful of oxygen is until they hold your head under the water.
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