A Definition of a Bastard And Myself By JPR

She said.

“You know I think you’re only with me for the sex.”

“Sweetheart, that's a terrible thing to say I mean I also really enjoy using your car as well.”

“You’re such an ass.”

She replied as even she had to laugh at that one.

I mixed another drink and admired the view of her semi-naked body as she moved about the room.

“Baby, tell me a lie to make me feel better.”

I took a sip as she stood in front of the mirror combing that ever so long, coarse hair.

The bourbon burnt and even though I knew I was a bastard for what I was about to say I couldn't fight the urge.

For even the sting of truth beats the bullshit of sugar-coated lies any day of the week.

I looked down into the semi empty glass not raising my head as I spoke out.

“I love you.”

“I love-”

She stopped mid-sentence in the realization of what I had just said.

I believe she got the point.

I never play it for something more than it ever truly is.

Fuck being the hero or the villain.

It's the hardest road taken when we truly find the courage to be ourselves.

JPR, is a southern gothic writer his work is always unfiltered and has appeared in.

Fixator Press, Red Fez, San Pedro River Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Dope Fiend Daily, Punk Noir Magazine, Fearless Poetry Zine, Blue Nib and Piker Press.

His current book is Are We Dead Yet? From Black Circle Publishing and available through Amazon.