My '80s boyfriend is hot. My '80s boyfriend wears robin egg blue dress shirts and holds my face when he kisses me. His best friend is on drugs. Blane doesn't like when I bump off my thumbnail. We kiss on the floor. On the weekends, he listens to Elvis Costello. On Sunday night, he asks if I am a virgin. Are you medically frigid, or is it psychological? Blane asks if I touch myself to his yearbook photo. He likes to fuck me to The Smiths. But Morrisey is a freak. A nerd. A worm. A cowboy. A flea. Blane tells me he loves my breath. It’s sweet. Sweet like Springsteen. Like Kiss. Not like Bowie. He’s a punk, an ass. Lauper is cool. Joy Division is alright. Joy Divison is cool. On Fridays, Joy Division is boss. Is gnarly. Gnarly. My '80s boyfriend is from California, LA, New York, and the middle of the country. He tells me everything was alright for a while. But his sister is sick. His sister is bulimic, is a druggie, is a whore. She steals his coke. She dates his friends. She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand MTV. My '80s boyfriend bumps off my dresser. He snorts up glitter. He snorts up eyeshadow. Lysol. Cocaine. Clay tells me I don’t make sense. He likes Coke and coke and cologne, and when I do my hair up like that. It’s like, I’m a beautiful boy, and that’s about it. I’m ashamed to be seen with you. What do you want to hear? I loveyouIvealwayslovedyouithasalwaysbeenyou. Is that what you want to hear? IthoughtaboutitandIdidonce.He’s taking me to the Prom. But Prom queens are sluts. Prom queens are losers. Prom queens are easy. After Prom, Jake and me fuck on the floor, on the coffin, in the shower. Jake won’t even remember this tomorrow. He’s too drunk. Says his dealer is in a real tough mood. Jake is a beautiful boy, and that’s about it. Jake’s father puts cigarettes out on him. His mother is rigid. His mother is a bitch. A slut. At Prom, it doesn’t matter that Jake’s mother is evil. At prom, I wear pink and curl my hair, and he says he likes my eyes and my shoes and my body and my tits and my ass and my mouth and my lips and my plastic feet.

I love him! Don’t you get that? I want to hear you say it! He loves me! Don’t you see!