My post, my thoughts, my actions, they are for me these days. They are not for, about, or because of anyone else. They are mine, and I can share them, hold them, change them, any way I want. I don’t care if anyone feels hurt, or upset, or angry or joyful, or comforted, or any other emotion in regards to me. I no longer have the space in my heart to care about anyone that has treated me poorly in the past. I deserve better, and I am better.
It’s finding out that your fiancé is fucking the boy he lied to you about. The brother.
You wonder how many times your mans dick has been inside his hole.
You wonder how raw it’s been and if you are walking around with some unknown infection inside of you. Wonder if the boys know what’s been inside of them.
Knowing now you could have trusted your heart and instincts in the past enough to not be in this position of anxiety today.
Queer Poly faggot brotherhood realness….I just sneezed…it might be that dreaded disease. Asking the fiancé is not an option you wish to pursue. Knowing that he is no longer yours, more comfortably placed in the youthful ignorance of boys that cum below. Besides, how could I trust his words? Even on something as important as this, I doubt his integrity.
The blue cowboy rode in on the back of a whore. Barebacking he broke his back.
He fucked up when he lost his innocence. Gave into the world and stopped caring about his world. The people he called angels were in fact demons. He himself and I are demons and thats okay. Right?
Are you fucking kidding me? Did you really kill the cowboy? How do you kill a cowboy? Tie him to a bed and fuck him till he bleeds to death then keep fucking him till rigor mortis sets in. Cut up his horse and cook it over an open fire. Thats the only way to do the job right.
But cowboys always come back. Thats why they have spurs and lassos. Hook in and hang in there dead cowboy. Your life isn’t over yet, just on hold for a little while. It’s time for a new ruling power. Demons will be angels again the way the monkey we call God intended it to be. All will be right in the land of inflatable faggots.
I want to say something but shame prevents me
yet if you had desire for good or beautiful things
and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say,
shame would not hold down your eyes
but rather you would speak about what is just