i tell him that this mouth bites, he thinks i’m being kinky.
i’m not. these marc jacobs purple lips are not for him,
or for the man telling me i look damn good, they are not for
the bartender i want to fuck and they are not for the ex lover
i mistook for a home. these lungs i have been cursed with forgot
how to scream “no” for months until i needed to again. until it was
forced upon me again. until i drank and forgot that whiskey tastes
like loneliness and i am still al0ne with someone else in my mouth.
i am still alone when my body is being stolen and i am still lonesome
trying to repair the damage of men who don’t look like the man i love.
this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft,
for something that is yours.

Annie McQuade is from a small Rhode Island town no one has ever heard of and likes to drive elsewhere as often as she can. She is an overly caffeinated retail store minion while studying English. She can often be found singing to Fleetwood Mac and drinking iced coffee. She wants to save the world one day, or at least try.