Rolls of Tape

All the synonyms are running through my head but I can't think of the word. It is like beautiful but a little less extreme. Red scrapes against the air. Drinking and eating and living are just words. Writing is just a word. I spit on the ground just to see the saliva run across the concrete. It was never about me or her or him. It was always about us. I don't know if I have ever loved someone. I have felt plenty of naked bodies. Mine against theirs. Playing with their dicks or their pussies. Whatever. I was never able to absorb anyone. Their flesh giving to mine and us just morphing into something beyond the physical world. Our parents said we didn't have morals and that we are bums. What else can you do when you are still just a kid? The clouds are getting heavier and heavier as their invisible stilts are giving and starting to splinter. You never know when to leave. You are just shoved out.