I’m no good for you.
I use to write my demons away, now I have to fuck them away. I pretend to care but I really don’t. I only deposit sperm inside you; you’re a sperm depository, nothing else. I feel bad about it sometimes. After you leave my room and I am left with the dark, I begin to feel a little. I’ve tried to be a better person but it’s too hard. I don’t know what love is. The only affection I got was from the fists of my foster parent. She would compliment me a lot though, telling me she should have never taken me in, that my birth parents made the right choice by giving me away, and most often letting me know how worthless I was.
My whole childhood was this. I tried to run away but was caught. Never wanted to run away after that because when I acted up, she’d call her brother to come over and discipline me. Those were the worst days I’ve ever experienced. They wouldn’t let me go to school for weeks, if I ever even went anyways. They’d warn me what would happen if I told anyone. I guess I didn’t know any better at that age, I never told anyone, well, except you now.
Listen, he beat me bad after I tried to run away. He got a plastic bag and put it over my face so I could suffocate; only stopping it in time for me to live. I wished my breath just left so I wouldn’t have had to deal with that cruelty. Outside of the normal beatings he would burn me with his cigarettes, pour gin in my eyes, and hit the back of my knees with his key chain. I passed out so many times; sometimes he’d be too tired to wake me up, the only generosity he ever showed me.
I don’t really know why I am telling you all this, I guess you meant something to me and figured I’d at least give you a good bye in this letter.
The only time I don’t suffer is when I am inside you or others. I do everything I need to get women in bed. I have to be someone I am not, no one would want the real me. I have to lie because no one will be able to deal with my truths. Remember when you invited me over to your house and I came late last week? You fell asleep waiting for me? Well, I was at a bar, met a girl, took her to the car and she sucked me off cause she was on her period. An hour later you woke up with me inside you. You thought it was a nice surprise and I gave you a fake smile while feeling shitty about myself. I am sorry.
It wasn’t the first time I did that. Don’t worry; I washed myself before, if that even means anything to you? I can’t help it. I am not a satry or anything like that. Fact of the matter is that when I am not experiencing anything sexual I am reliving the insults, the pain, and the neglect by those soulless humans.
At 18, I ran and never went back. They no longer live in case you’re wondering.
Fortunately no one has to experience that pain anymore. Police apparently said the cause was overdose, but only I know the truth.
I am no good for you.
How can you love someone like me? I know I say it back, but I don’t mean it. My life was already made out for me. I was to never know what happiness, love, or peace felt like. You always wonder why I am so quiet after sex, why I don’t ever talk about my life. I wish I had the money for hookers so I wouldn’t have to work so hard for sex, or pretend to care.
It’s a pain in the ass to talk to you and any other girl just to get laid. I have to hear about your dreams, your life, and your perfect family. I pay enough attention so you would think I am really listening but my mind was locked in that hell I lived. Don’t take it personally though, if I had another life, you’d be the perfect one for me. In fact, I kinda liked it when I woke up with you holding me; I never had that with anyone else. It made me feel really good for a little. It ended after I started thinking about the last time I was held. Let’s just say it wasn’t a way anyone would want to be held.
I always kept asking why you kept coming back and by the time you write back I won’t be here so I’ll never know. Most women give up after a week or two. I fuck them and leave them when they want to spend time with me, have dinner with me, or start asking about my life. Why do you think it’s always bars for me? I don’t even like drinking but it’s easier to take off panties when women are slurring their words. I guess that is the only friend I had, alcohol.
I am not writing you this letter to piss you off. I just think you warrant the truth. You always wanted to know what I was thinking, what I was feeling, so here it is baby. This is my last hurrah. The first and last time I tell the truth or express my feelings.
I am not writing this for you to feel sorry for me. Don’t waste your time with that. I don’t even feel sorry for me. I just know what suffering is and don’t want to deal with it anymore. I guess I am kinda immune to this thing called “feeling”. Anyways, I’ve always been a lone wolf, guess I’ll leave as a lone wolf.
I’ve never felt guilt till I met you. I never stopped penetrating others but I felt guilty for it, that’s all I could give you. It may not mean much to you, but it was something I have never felt, that must mean something?
I’ve never felt sorry, never told anyone I am sorry. You must mean something for me to say, sorry. At any rate, that’s the story, now you won’t ever wonder; now you have the answers to those questions.
Fucking was my only freedom. After I busted it was back to my mental cage. The memories always came back. So thank you for freeing me, even if it wasn’t for long…
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