I can feel it just below my ribcage cracks in it's soft shell under the pressure of your hand, giving way. And egg, (metaphorical one albeit) cradled in the palm of my stomach pale white, eye without an iris bloodshot cracks running through made crimson with anger. Pressing down, your hand on my stomach eyes into mine mouth onto lips pressing harder and my shining new resolve not yet unwrapped of plastic still smelling like the store (Pic N Save) breaks. Reddish yolk spills out of me as I give in as I "give it up" the egg is frying you like it over easy over quick easy to get, easy to LEAVE.... I'm not surprised you haven't called but in the meantime I've cleaned up the mess bought another resolve... resolved to hate you make you bleed next time you crawl to me your dick limp between your legs. Washed my sheets twice and yet the still smell like you. And I can't help remembered the way, after you got dressed you lay, arms around me how you didn't want to leave. The sun was rising we had three hours and I'm giving up as I'm bordering on pathetic. The minute I decided to go by the "love you like you've never been hurt before" look, it made me a whore I guess I wwon't love anymore but I can feel it, just below my ribcage in the egg newly laid white and dewy you press harder and harder still but it won't break this time. (c) 2000 by Laura Nye. All Rights reserved.