regret.
the burning of the skin
that twists in the gut
so deep the walls of your stomach meet.

i thought i wanted to be exposed,
but he means nothing to me. his skinny jeans
that are still loose in the smallest size
and his long hair,
the way his teeth have white spots in the middle
from where the braces used to be.

i hate him.
i hate how he begged me for an orgasm,
and got as many as he wanted
in some pixels on a screen
because i felt sadness in the grief he pretended to have.

regret.
over and over as the prefix insinuates.
i'd never kiss you,
but you've seen as much as any boy i've loved.