Whiskey at Sixteen

I was just sixteen, drunk
A mess of long hair and hormones
Leaning against walls of various rooms
In an attempt to pass off social anxiety
As a display of power and machismo

The first girls tongue, sweet
Slipped into my mouth as she gave
Me a taste of what the night could bring me
But I pulled myself away from the body that pressed
Itself close to my own, to find a new wall

The second mouth, warm
Presented something different
A lust beyond her years that enticed me
And she placed my hand firmly against her inside leg
I would not take her that night, or another

The night drew long, dark
And my bad intentions did fade
One more night that I’d spend sleeping alone
One more night that my blood would continue to run cold
One more night with Jack Daniels, my only friend

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About Greg Moss

25 year old English and Media Graduate based in Manchester, UK. Contact me at: literatureandlethargy@gmail.com
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