Hate to Feel

by Chandler Morrison

There are nights when I masturbate to fantasies of how it once was, the feverish passion of the beginning, but it hurts every time I come. It’s like ejaculating battery acid. I always cry afterward.

Death canonizes even the most awful of us. No one will speak ill of you when the dirt is still fresh upon your grave. It’s only once the grass starts to grow that everyone remembers what a piece of shit you were.