Bad Lover

I don't know how I even ended up in a bed last night. 

I went to see the boy I was once in love with. 

When we were younger we were enamored by each other. I was infatuated with the way that he carried himself. He was so delicate, the rock-star boy that would never speak my name. Not to anyone else. I was no one then, but I still loved him. 

Fridays and Saturdays we would sit outside Hollywood High, where there were other boys like him and girls like me. The lost-girls we called our selves. There was no name for the boys, but we knew who they were, even if they never spoke our names. 

Outside Hollywood High we would drink bottles of taka, take bumps of our hands and dance in our leather stud jackets, high tops boots and see-through shirts. The shirts would become the color of the light or dark around us, they would let the girls be lost. 

Me and George feigned love there. He would kiss me when I let him drink from my bottles or sniff lines off my belly. He would let me ride on his back when we walked up to Sunset to go see a show, it was normally the Atma then. 

Inside the club where he would never speak my name I would dance wild to try and keep his eyes on me, but it never worked, he was never looking at me anyways, but I promised to love him forever.

Years later when he needed me somehow I would always show up. After the drugs wore off, the girls left and house was dark, I would sneak into his big yellow house bottle of wine in hand, and come to his bed where I would no longer let him touch me. His room smelled of mulling smoke and sweat. There were kitties in the bed with us and they would all join as he laid his head on my chest always shivering but never cold to the touch and sleep. 

I went back to his house last night after my absence from him had almost last a year. He was having people over to drink. My mind was skipping and I didn't know why. After not seeing him for a while I thought I would pay him back by taking a few shots and then playing girlfriend when Joe behind the counter would want to hook up the underage if it meant they were gonna get some. 

I suppose I drank too much. And my mind was skipping. I was seeing the things in my head about the boy I once loved. He thought he was going to die soon and so I began to cry. I knew he would live forever, my mind skipped and I told him so. 

I think I scarred him. There were no kisses for the bottle and he wouldn't speak my name.