Clad in fishnet, a corset, and twenty different people's sweat,
Your hand pulls me further into the dense crowd of thrashing bodies.
"Pussy."
A sprained ankle, at least four broken fingers and several blows to the head later,
(Crowdsurfers enjoy launching over tall guys
And being attached to one isn't the best idea,)
I remember why I loved metal.
I haven't done this in awhile.

I stand at the bar and watch you down another overpriced Bud Lite,
Hoping that you will be able to remember everything tomorrow,
Hoping that we'll still be more than "just friends",
Hoping that there will be no regrets from either side.
I am sighted by other men,
And you give them the death stare.
They pick me up/grab me,
And you hit them.
"Is this your boyfriend?"
"Kindofsortofmaybe."
Please don't get my hopes up.