No. I'm not in love no more.
"Got another picture, man?" How big
is the ego? "Yeah, what's my score?"
I hate myself and what I beg for,
and I absolutely can't love no more.
"Shoot me the address." "I'll stay
up late." Why is sex just another chore? Can I
breathe? "I'm here get the door."
All that used to glitter, bores.
"Yeah, you can touch, take, adore
me." Who is this person?
My eyes are sore.
If I stopped enjoying it, am I still a
whore?
No. No, I can't love anymore.
Not like the first time. The first time,
I remember everything that you wore. Nothing
like God on a dorm room floor.
But that was long ago, it was all way before.
Before I tasted all the wine in the store.
Love is a strange agreement, with sex at its core.
I really just can't love anymore.