And I swear the bastard of a message just licked its lips.
I take a lap around the kitchen,
watching it like a hawk.
Then I sip my coffee,
burn my tongue.
It's worth it.
Pain makes me tough.
I glance at the phone.
Look away.
Then look again.
It’s still there, glowing:
I wanna see you
Who the fuck says that?
Men don’twanna see you
unless they’re broke, hungry, or horny.
Or they’re lonely.
Or worse—theywanna see you.
Which are the most dangerous ones,
the honest ones.
Honest men leave bruises you can’t point to.
After watching Celie go down last night,
I should ignore it.
I should block him.
I should’ve also checked myself into rehab the secondJanie’s Got a Gunturned into a to-do list. But I never do what I should.
I bring the mug to my lips.
It’s cold now.
Even the coffee got sick of waiting on me.
I set the mug down.
I pick it back up.
Set it back down.
