I’d ask you to hold it. We were two drip-drops trying to mask ourselves in a river of wonders. Tell me, do you dream of ugly girls? I’m ripped fishnets on a worn out worker, carrying the smell of full leeches and they still don’t suck quite like you do. I’m masked tape against the wall, holding in an outlet that you mundanely plug yourself into. I still don’t like your spark but I’m open to electrical conductivity. Your face is so disproportionate, I think my eyes are on a see-saw and I’ve become addicted to riding you. Your compliments remind me of my middle school finger nails, dirty and a little run down. You will never be the annotation of an ugly girl’s book. You will be the page I skip past to get to the dialogue that never included you.