welcome to your life
You write this down in the margins of the notebook you’ve got in your backpack. Notebook, book, pen, gum, condoms, lube. The standard kit for when you make this journey. Sometimes you’ve got an extra pair of shoes in there – the nice sensible ones for after a night out with him. Sometimes there’s a length of rope, and right now the thought of it makes you grimace because that length of rope seems like such an abject metaphor for this non-relationship.
welcome to your life/ welcome to the bed you made
There’s a song in your head and you’re wanting to busy yourself with writing down the lyrics you think you remember. Much like how you often busy yourself writing down the moments between you and him that you think were golden.
passing time does make fools of us all
The train chugs along a stretch of parkland and it’s one of those annoyingly bright and lovely days. You look outside and you catch glimpses of people, blurs of joy and ice cream and prams and skateboards. Actual solid golden moments being made, probably.
You find yourself on another train, another Saturday where your end destination is on top of him. Under him. Whatever. What-the-fuck-ever. This time tomorrow you’ll have been spat back out of his flat and into yet another train carriage. Your sex life is a hobbling train carriage of monotony. Your love life doesn’t exist. This is nothing but an arrangement made entirely for the convenience of his penis.
Never at your place. Always the travelling, always this fucking rickety train, always the gaping void where the cash in your wallet and the feeling in your soul were meant to be.
Just sex. Only sex. Sex is the beginning and the end. The touch of his hands on your tits. The feeling of his tongue on your clit. The rough and the smooth. The rough and the rough. The sex is all there is.
It’s alright. The sex is alright. That’s the word that comes to mind when you think about the time you spend locked in this penis-arrangement. In this time bomb that tick, tick, tocks its countdown to whenever it’ll explode. When this sexual puppet master of yours will cut you loose in a way that he’ll no doubt think is ugly and shattering.
But you’re counting down along with that time bomb because the realization that it will only be him that thinks it to be ugly and shattering is a profound one.
for freedom and for pleasure
doesn’t last forever
welcome to your life
But for now, all you can do is sit back in your seat on the train and wait until it pulls into that station. He won’t be there to pick you up. He never is and he doesn’t think he has to. He just knows you’ll turn up at his door, knickers wet and body desperate.
All you can do is sit back in your seat. Wonder how many seconds are left on that time bomb.
Welcome to your life.