the sequel

It all started with something that's made out of cold.
I hate it how orphaned I feel whenever he let go of my hand.
How I spend the days dreaming of his length
and the way it fills me.
Sometimes it fills me in completely like I'm gonna burst.
I hate it when cock didn't add up to words
of my wetness and everything in between.
I hate it when he turns on the knob and poke it with keys
like chimes designed to drive force and he instead
force his drives into me.
I hate it when I'm falling into me.
I hate it when it takes hours before he let me sit on his lap
and treat my legs like boulders
as they split in two.
My legs will then pull reflexively shut as he towers over me
and I hate it when I melt with his voice and give in.
I hate it when I give in to the trampling and the swelling.
I hate it when he strip me as if my clothes are paper
and he's undoing a letter.
I hate it when in seconds he could turn my throat

360 degrees like a swivel.

 This is no more a game of hands.
This is the pink of my cunt unfolding.
This is the girl becoming a bitch.