"The BAD LOFT PARTIES"
I had sex with this boy I’m friends with. He has such a nice girlfriend. If the
parties hadn’t been so bad, we wouldn’t of, but every party was bad. One party had baked ziti, but was still bad. The friend, he wears t-shirts that have disgusting things silk-screened on. Like somebody eating their eyeball with a fork. Somebody who is not real. Or a cow having sex with a car and both are dripping with slime. A bathtub filled with blood but the blood has a smile.
My friend decided to write a love song to win back his girlfriend. I helped because I took Poetry once, so I know how to do lyrics. We tried to make a song but it sounded too somber. I think it’s because both our guitars are black, I said. He looked and it was true. Shit, these are my only guitars, he said. But it was O.K. A love song is always sad.
I have never made anyone my whole world. I like taking apart bikes and putting them back together different. There was never a guy who floored me. The ones I know, you’d be retarded to get lost in. They live in basements and pee in bottles. They steal everyone’s Netflix. A party that’s bad, makes me more sad than mad. That’s one of my lines from my poems. Then it goes: A boy is a body, a butt is so bare, I ride on my bike, no hands, eating air.
- Rachel B. Glaser
