娼婦
1/1
“Don’t you ever get tired of killing yourself slowly?”
I questioned the chestnut brown haired girl standing starch-naked in the middle of my room smoking the toxic stick formally known as cigarettes. I would ask how she had gotten into the room that locked from the outside or criticize her chose of wardrobe but I decided against it sparing myself from some half-assed excuse of how poetic she was being right now. Carrying on with some insult about how happy I should be to have a naked girl in my apartment, unarmed and defenseless. I would bring up the fact that I’m a girl too and could just look in the mirror but she would insist I could use this time to “study” and broaden my imagination whatever the hell that meant.
“I would rather die from something cool like lung cancer than die some shitty death from getting hit by a car. I mean imagine me dying with a cigarette in between my lips looking all cool vs. having my guts and blood splattered on some grimy New York back street. Moms would be all like no Timmy don’t step in that red goo you’ll get whore all over your new Vans.”
She said while exhaling toxic fumes into my once clean air, I scoffed looking up in time to get a full frontal view of her naked body. Coving my eye’s I grabbed the thing closest to me and tossed it at her.
“Pretty please put that on.”
I begged not wanting to see any more than I had to. I heard her laugh followed by some rustling and an annoyed sigh. Uncovering my eyes I looked at her to see her wrapped in a towel with a smirk on her face. I looked at her really looked at her for the first time in what seemed like ages. She looked as if she was thinner, skin paler, and her hair was wild and unkempt. She was killing herself with expensive habits and impure desires.
“How’s work?”
I asked
“A whore’s job is never done.”
She laughed bringing her toxic love to her lips once more.
I questioned the chestnut brown haired girl standing starch-naked in the middle of my room smoking the toxic stick formally known as cigarettes. I would ask how she had gotten into the room that locked from the outside or criticize her chose of wardrobe but I decided against it sparing myself from some half-assed excuse of how poetic she was being right now. Carrying on with some insult about how happy I should be to have a naked girl in my apartment, unarmed and defenseless. I would bring up the fact that I’m a girl too and could just look in the mirror but she would insist I could use this time to “study” and broaden my imagination whatever the hell that meant.
“I would rather die from something cool like lung cancer than die some shitty death from getting hit by a car. I mean imagine me dying with a cigarette in between my lips looking all cool vs. having my guts and blood splattered on some grimy New York back street. Moms would be all like no Timmy don’t step in that red goo you’ll get whore all over your new Vans.”
She said while exhaling toxic fumes into my once clean air, I scoffed looking up in time to get a full frontal view of her naked body. Coving my eye’s I grabbed the thing closest to me and tossed it at her.
“Pretty please put that on.”
I begged not wanting to see any more than I had to. I heard her laugh followed by some rustling and an annoyed sigh. Uncovering my eyes I looked at her to see her wrapped in a towel with a smirk on her face. I looked at her really looked at her for the first time in what seemed like ages. She looked as if she was thinner, skin paler, and her hair was wild and unkempt. She was killing herself with expensive habits and impure desires.
“How’s work?”
I asked
“A whore’s job is never done.”
She laughed bringing her toxic love to her lips once more.