...I can be cruel, I don't know why

like fire to the bone

it's like poison through muscle

and thread through skin

the littlest things holding me together

same time breaking me apart

still sleep in shifts like the hospital

a few hours here, open my eyes for the sting

gauze and tape.

back to sleep and pray for relief

she's never happy to bring the morphine

last thing she said she wants to do is make an addict out of me

pencil beats rock, scissor beats paper

angry red skin beats rest

stinging pain and disgust beats sleep

..and you're down to your last cigarette

I can't blame her for the dirty look. I mean, it's anyone's natural reaction while catching someone staring at your tits. What is the fuck is wrong with you and why are you gawking at me you dirty lesbian pervert. "what's your problem?" she turned quickly to face me, and I realized I'd been caught. I looked two, three seconds too much longer than I had trained myself to look. "You've been staring at my chest for like five minutes now, and I want to give you a chance before I call the fucking cops on you." I didn't think the answer of "seriously you wouldn't believe me if I told you" would have gone over that well by the way she cocked her hip, the way her lips has pulled into a thin almost white line, eyes narrowed. To be honest? I hadn't been able to say it outloud myself at that point, but once it came out there was no shutting it up. "I'm going to have a double mastectomy, they're removing my breasts and I have to figure out the best size for after when they do the reconstruction." slipped out before I had a chance to catch it. Her eyebrows rose before she gave them a quick roll and turned to nearly run away from me. Maybe a lie would have been easier. I have a boob fetish? But in all honesty? I had gotten lost in trying to figure out what a 32 C would look like on a body that had been home to 42 DD's for 26 years.