I felt it the second I heard my phone ring. It was him calling. I guess the weekend out of town with his boys was over, unfilling and none of them got laid, so my phone rang or maybe it was my ex. The sick parts of me actually wanted it to be my ex, fucking asshole. I didn't answer though, I knew better. Between booty calls, "I want you back", and drunk text, I rarely answered when I see certain names pop up on my screen. You do that as you get older, "fuck it" kinda attitude when certain people call you. As if they had new things to conversate about, they don't. It's always the same shit, he'll say, "I miss you", and I'll play along, even when I hate this game. It's worse than feeling like dirty laundry. Plus, I'm not even sure anyone ever really wins, but, fuck it, I'm just Dirty laundry, so I play. That's all I am to them, dirty. I'm sure they laugh, I'm laughing too. Fuck It, I don't blame anyone. Big tits, face about an eight, when their drunk it's a 20, loud mouth, bigger teeth, likes to party, long legs, brunette and lips to die for. Who blames a man, but, only a woman scorned. I cry silently, while you'd laugh if you saw what I wake up to after each nightly regret. I sneak out. "dirty laundry", plays on repeat in my head. I heard once, in a quote or by unknown mouth, "that a father should never be the first man to break his daughters heart." That shit hit home, but, always the wrong homes. I'm confused by choice, in the wordings written by love, it's definition, it's meaning. Ironic don't you think, that two people can look at the exact same thing, at the exact same time, and both view something completely different? Tasting the insurmountable needs to be loved, as if I am the only one who deserves it, which I'm not, I'm just fucking selfish with it, with love. Making my ears unable to comprehend anything meaningful, spoken from his sans mouth, the silence is deafening. It made me feel dirty. Cringing in believing we can only accept the love we think we deserve. because all the dead things appealed to my dirty appetite. I always felt dirty, Doomed honestly. I wished something inside of me was alive, just to feel anything for anyone, I am empty. So I lie, even through the numbness, I lie, telling each of them love stories, like I wrote the book of heros and fairy tales.