First time

 

The cloying starch of

crunchy peanut butter

on dry toast, stuck to

the roof of my mouth.

Plastering every memory

in place. A gagging feeling

in my throat, words

trying to get out, stuck

tight like glue as the

sharp bite of pineapple

tries to cut through.

To wash away the residue.

 

Swiftly followed by

the assault to the senses,

a wave of scents.

The punch of roasted

coffee beans, swings through

the dense cigarette smoke,

vomit pools and cold air

of a November morning.

The engine fumes of city streets

mingle with the rotten stale

perfume that clings to my skin

through the unwashed shirt.

 

Feeling unclean

as the bright sunlight

of an early morning hangover

dazzles my eyes.

Blurring with tears

and insight.

 

The faint strains of still being drunk

wobbling away inside. Like the tides

of regret I was swaying through.

Waves I was struggling to ride.

 

Late to college,

a bus ride, Nimrod by Green Day

played on my Sony CD Walkman,

skipping every time

the bus caught a speedbump.

I needed to

cleanse away the grime.

Scrub my feelings raw.

Put on a different skin suit.

Another me, good riddance

to the former I thought.

Time of my life? Then why did

I feel like death?

 

This is my memory

of losing my virginity.

Not names, or faces,

but the shame...

That I'd handed myself

on a plate. Following

the programming.

Ticking the boxes.

No love, just a script

that never suited me.

A birthday gift unwanted.