houseghost

“Are you still in my house?” he texts, as I stand, doting on my bruised tush in the mirror, the array of marks left by his hand reminiscent of an archipelago. He’s gone, for a while this time. But he keeps giving me keys to the various residences he keeps. “I don’t see how that’s any of […]

i want

Next time I see him, I want to beat my fists on his endless expanse of chest. I keep having visions of it, of how good it will feel. Of how I’ll really get into it, a tiny, full-blown rampage. Story goes he’ll laugh it off and eventually grab my wrists in one giant hand and pull […]