As I lay here, tears running down my face, like snowflakes on a dark day landing on my cheek. The kind of dark day where my warm, soft hair whips around my face and it does not feel warm nor soft. I don’t know why I’m crying, there is no genuine reasoning behind these soft streams of water. I feel broken and angry with myself, because I am angry with myself and I am allowing myself to be broken. I am used and broken. Nothing about me is pure anymore. I miss that, feeling like a child. I am not in complete control of my life anymore. Not that anyone ever is, especially children, but that is really what adulthood is. You don’t have control and you have to deal with that. I’m crying because this angry and broken self I am just wants someone to love her, and she is so afraid of being unloved that she gives herself. She sells herself. When she is finally alone, in this bed, on her own, she feels you under her skin. She feels your hot breath against her neck, no longer alluring but filthy. She wants to scrub herself. It is dirty, she is dirty. Behind that kiss, there was no love. Behind it all, there was only corrupted and foul intentions. She scratches herself until she bleeds, tears her flesh until there is nothing left to claw. You are inside of her forever. Of that, she will never forget. She is alone, with your foot print on her chest. The reason behind it all is only that she wanted you to be him. Each man that lays down next to her is him. She loves him with an unceasing love and loves you as she loved him. Afterwards, laying in your arms, she knows that you are not him because you do not have his scent. You do not whisper the same words. All she wants is that familiar breath, that is not what you can give her. You are just an animal.