We had our angst-ridden conversation on the balcony with with the stupid frogs as chorus, my stupid frogs because you didn’t think about them for a moment after you directed me inside and closed the balcony doors. I knew that you didn’t think of them because I could read your mind.
All that I read was lust.
All that I wanted was lust, but a little pity, perhaps, for my fear, but lust. Fangs were out and you overcame me on the bed on the pile of pillows. I wanted to be in your arms, but to punish myself I held back and turned my head and let you put your arms around me and your lips…everywhere, but finally to my throat…and then I was yours and you did, I told myself, what you would. I was older and stronger but you had your way and that is my story to this day…or is it?
What you want of me is to tell the truth and I don’t believe in heaven and hell even still but I know myself damned to hell if I don’t tell the truth and the truth is that I wanted every single moment and you gave it to me in perfect time and perfect order and perfect pleasure and how perfect the blood tears I wept.
I did not stay with you because of my maker and for that if there is a hell, I damn myself there, but not for me. For you. Because I hurt you.