Use me in the After

What I found most attractive about Claire was how she wasted away and didn’t care about her body. It had nothing to do with how she looked like a doll skeleton.

I used to meet her under the bridge on main street. I would always find her with a pink dildo stuffed in one of her holes while she carved at her thighs with razor blades. 

We met at a party when we were seventeen. I had just railed a line of molly mid-peak through a blotter tab of acid. I stumbled like a melting blob of flesh-gore through the bathroom door — into her decaying body on the floor. I could see all the purpled veins through her flesh. She had these tiny little legs covered in seethrough stockings. Her t-shirt had a picture of a t-bone steak, and below it read the word “fuck”. My mouth was compulsively opening and closing from the molly, and that is when I started eating her insides out without asking, and she spread her legs open beyond where they could stretch. 

She told me that she was a slave to the universe. A hole to be used by whatever needed one. Nothing but discarded sperm in a condom to be repeatedly exhausted by whores in Yonge and Finch apartments. She told me she had her first abortion at thirteen. She told me she wanted my abortion. 

I would meet her under the bridge when I had nowhere to stay. I always knew I could stay in her to keep warm. Sometimes we would use her blood as lubricant, and she would always cut herself between her moans. I used to cheat on every girlfriend just to watch different parts of her drip various bodily fluids. 

Sometimes I would find her with a needle in her arm. She told me if I needed to cum that I could use her holes whenever I needed them. Even if she was dead. 

One day I found her hanging below the bridge. 

So I stayed true to her words.