A fucking Monster.
But I wouldn’t know-
would I?
I wouldn’t know a thing,
because me-
I was unconscious.
Laying there on the cold tile of your friends bathroom floor.
So no, I don’t remember you saying you had to pee,
while I remained shivering, in serious need of a hospital, 3 feet away.
I don’t remember you’re snicker.
And I’m not haunted by the sound of you locking the bathroom door.
I don’t remember you throwing those god-damned khaki cargo pants of yours,
in the corner by the hamper, to look like dirty clothes,
in hopes your friend wouldn’t suspect a thing.
I don’t remember you crawling on top of my body,
and I have no recollection of you undoing my button-fly jeans.
I don’t recall the nauseating smell of lemons on your breath 
that you ate as a dare hours before.
I don’t remember turning my head to the side
and seeing the bottle of Russian Vodka,
that you told us all you were completely wasted on,
sitting, unopened, on the counter-top.
It’s not possible for me to remember not being able
to shove you off of me.
And I don’t remember being able to piece together one last thought
before I passed out for the last time.
This wasn’t spur of the moment.