Where are the milk carton kids? Where are the missing children? How many Amber Alerts have you ignored? Crash into oncoming traffic once you see ’05 Nissan Grey License Plate XOR-A67 carrying crying sack of shit that totaled your car.

I was being polite

This underpass fills me with comfort. I have a healthy relationship, I have a great sex life, but nothing compares to the relief trespassing the unknown. The beer helps with the cold, and the plastic gloves do a reasonable job of blocking the chill in my in-seam.

I paid the homeless man $6 to paint here. What a cuck; being homeless in this town. Go to Denver you vagabond, useless piece of shit. Organize at the tent park that used to be a playground. Kill a cop; do something useful. He’s long gone after he hears the spray can.

I don’t offer solace; not even validation. I nod to the dying homeless man, griping my pack of smokes under my jacket. If he saw the press-ons on my nails when I pulled a menthol; He would have gone full Body Snatcher.

Not that he would be homophobic. I’ve known most homeless men to be pretty familiar with their prostate. But the sheer display of faggot-ery to a crust bucket seems offensive. Imagine paying $150 to show everyone how gay you are. Most people make that assumption for free.

I can’t stand the anticipation. I can’t wait to rip these off and go to town on the grime beneath my nails. I even worked on my car before putting them on to give a tinge of grease during my feeding. I once chewed on my girlfriends nails as a joke and poisoned my mind with the fantasy.

I can’t seem to get it right. I don’t think the general audience understands how much I’m down to fuck. Yeah I’m in a relationship but fucking doesn’t always mean cheating. I’ve fucked many people purely by biding my time.

Have you ever scheduled a squirt? a pre? a eyes fully closed face skin stretching as if they smelled something putrid (maybe they did) gripping to any form that would conform to a grab. Bliss; forced upon.

I’ve seen the way older (millennial) women look at me. I am exhausted by the psychic labor performing in their dreams. Every open eye where I can see their full iris, every smile damn near breaking under its intent, every challenge they present when they motion to their hands or some other part of their body that’s tatted. Shit stick and poke calligraphy; blurred during a handjob.

I work in sales now; that’s why I’ve been noticing this. I am forced to smile at these replications of their ex boyfriends favorite porn star, and that’s all there is to it. They sense the desire I have to get the fuck out of there, and they writhe in the minutia of “he just had to leave, he’s busy, he’s just doing his job,” while they touch themselves under their desk.

Maybe I’m cocky, maybe a little narcissistic. But the sheer terror I feel when a bunched up piece of meat cunt comes up to me to facilitate interaction, stems from my knowledge that more likely than not; they are nothing. Nothing that would benefit me, nothing new, nothing present. Just a fucked objection in my way to the bathroom.

I don’t blame them. Listen; once you’re a gay man you realize how you are nothing but meat. Just a fucked faggot waiting to gag on the cock that will spill through your brains and land you in a coma. But a dyke? Please… At least size matters.

I don’t hate women. I just understand their play.

Being bisexual makes you a marketing expert.

I paint the same tag I’ve been trying to perfect for months. These park rangers don’t know, these local government employees don’t know I am performing the quintessential task when it comes to gentrification. A white POS tagging his hood until the HOA notices. Uhhhhh Banksy? UHHH any other graffiti artist you give a shit about. How many artists have posted their collabs with major companies as if they did something? How many mural artists need to be shot? Unique expression? Bitch, you exemplify nothing and you are nothing. I bet you salivate at the thought of my dick.

That’s been a recent problem for me. So many cunts trying to suck my dick as if it was charity. Giving back to their harrowing FB page where they called me a faggot and sucked off a 12 year old. Worthless.

Am I worthless? No. I don’t have time for self pity bullshit. I’m not that much of a narcissist.

So where does that leave me? Sunshine bottled by Johnson and Johnson. Fuck you I am immortal.

—

It’s hard not to assimilate to the violence that comes with the perception of taking it up the ass. See, I’ve noticed that most men’s first experience with taking it up the ass is either through violence or in a doctor’s office. Sometimes both.

They don’t seem to grasp that feeling of flecked flesh coursing through veins ending in orgasmic lobotomy. So much men link their climax to hatred and disgust, and for some fucking reason can’t stand the fear that comes with a grin from a man in a skirt. I’m not looking to be raped (like a lot of other twinks out there), but most men see themselves in a white button down, covered in their wife and children’s blood when they hear the phrase “HATE FUCK.”

Sure, there’s blood if you’re into that sort of thing; but usually whoever’s covered complains about blue balls.

What I’m trying to say is that instead of mixing those related emotions into a mildly interesting sex life; they throw sex out the window in favor of jacking off the ghost of their dead grandpa.

I’m getting too abstract. Instead of having sex they rape and kill women. I would bring up how these men also torture people like me; but that actually seems kind of sexual. There’s nothing sexual about killing a woman. Playing into a dynamic that has been omnipresent by the sexless, the accountants, the auditors; and calculating your way to a false sum. You have taken nothing, you have created nothing, you are nothing. And the weak praise the Nothing and worship the space in between. Action, only amounting to a pathetic whimper to dissipate amongst the racket. You do not create silence, you do not usher peace, you do not embrace darkness, YOU DO NOT MATTER. Your description endless, as it only contains what you lack. Infinite weakness collapsing under its chagrin to exist.