The Whore I Am

She called me a whore.

I suppose I deserve it.

She doesn’t understand my incessant need for it.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

I don’t think, necessarily, that whore was called for.

And being my friend it felt a little extra harsh.

Everyone asks…

How many do you need?

One more.

One more.

Is always the answer.

Oh wait.

She called me a bike whore.

Did I not make that clear?

What don’t you have enough of?

And what, pray tell, did you think I was talking about?