Stuck

She is the hot wind on the back of my neck and I can't stop staring. She's so busy, always so busy. I can't tell her that if I were ever to love her, it would cost me my ticket, but I'm very tempted. I get the distinct impression she wouldn't mind hearing it and let's face it: I'm over that guy she saw me with.

Noone can hear me and I'm screaming pretty loud. I know it's a sin so I don't say it, but I can't believe they don't know it. My lips are too precious for his viscious mouth, I wish I could get him on his knees, tell him to shut the fuck up, pull his hair and slap him hard everywhere it hurts to be hit.

She stares at me, but maybe she stares at everyone. Her eyes look crowded and I've never really stood out in a crowd. I think about kissing her more than I think about hitting him.

She is my crime and he is my punishment.