You like when I’ve packed on the pounds, you eat my pussy until it hurts, you take pictures of me in lingerie, you finger me in ubers.

I wanna have ur babies. I wanna fuck up my life on your account. Did you know love and obsession stimulate the same part of your brain? I’m obsessed with you. You’re gonna be the boy that gets away. When I’m married with kids I’ll run into you one day at a coffee shop or a super market, and I’ll feel my pussy drip and my heart stop. I’ll ruin my marriage for one more steamy night with you. I’ll loose my kids and when you walk out on me again I’ll sit there and blame you but its only diffusion of responsibility because the seventeen year old predicting all of this right now knows: fuck the kids its always been you.

I want to run toxically mad with you. I want to fight, I want to bleed love. I mean I don’t want to but I wouldn’t mind if thats what our reality would be because your mouth tastes cold and I’m feeling rather hot, so why don’t you run your lips over every inch of my sweltering body and ease the burning. Please.