Drinking Solo

Liquor is the best friend for a weary mind,
and somehow these thoughts come up suddenly like a wind.

You know, I often imagine to be in a hotel room,
dolled-up in a black lace robe sitting by the large window,
or perhaps a little bit more daring masquerade costume,
drinking one or two glasses of wine before making love.

Oh, yes, Darling, I can be that kind of girl,
as charming as the devil, sly as a fox, dancing like a whore,
but you selfishly decide that I am not that kind of girl,
and you turn your back on me to do it all with another.

For I am the girl who can never fulfilled your sexual fantasy,
that’s why you entered the hotel room with another.
For I am the girl who can never satisfied your desire of sensuality,
that’s why you gave the pretty lingerie for another.

And taking some pictures of her, and probably with her too.
And fucking her again and again and again and again.
Since you decide that I cannot pull it off like her.
Since you decide that I won’t look good in that outfit, unlike her.

Oh, yes, I did fucking some others too, my dear.
I did it out of rage and anger till it hurts.
My mind and body were ruptured.
So much for self-destruction.

Oh, I’m fully aware that I don’t have that kind of body,
a body that every man would dream of.
You told me I’m restrained,
yet you never asked about my wildest dream.

Come on, we used to be so compatible in bed.
So where did it all go wrong?

The hardest thing is that I can always feel the differences
in how you touch me, in how you kiss, how you treat my body.
The worst thing is that I know you already break our agreement,
crossing the boundaries, and choosing to be tempted by the diversion.

It’s actually okay for you to break the agreement or cross the boundary,
we’re human after all. I understand.
What’s not okay is when I sense the differences in bed.
It’s when I sense that you don’t want me anymore, as much as before.

You said, that meeting and fucking others
will make you be more affectionate
and compassionate to me,
but why can’t I feel it now?

I always fear of knowing too much,
and feeling too much.
I always fear of being too sensible.
Is ignorance really a bliss?

Where did it all go wrong?

A wise woman said that sex is rarely an emotional bond for men,
while it’s always emotional bond for women.
Well I cannot feel it lately, sadly,
while all I need is the sexual healing from you particularly and only, actually.

You know, I often imagine to be in a hotel room,
enjoying the bubbles in a bathtub,
with you.
But it was only just a dream.

A drunk-talking.

‘Cause here I am, enjoying a bottle of old cheap red liquor, all alone.
And I’m drinking solo.



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