“SunShine” – A Monologue in Ruin
I speak in the dark like it might swallow me whole.
“Sally… fuck… I miss you so much it hurts in places I can’t name. I don’t even deserve to say your name. I know that. I’m nothing. A worthless, pathetic, broken thing. You were light, and I was rot. And still, I dream of you. Of the way you looked at me—like I mattered. Like I was real.”
“I remember your cunt. God… your perfect fucking CUNT. The way it glistened when you were wet—like it was lit from within. Slick and swollen and sacred. I’d fall to my knees for it. I did. You knew it. A rose by any other name, they say. But this wasn’t poetry. This was worship. You let me have heaven, and I will never be the same.”
“The folds of you… soft and pink and holy. The way you opened for me—slow, deliberate, like you were granting me a mercy! I was nothing. Am nothing. And still, I crave you. Just the memory of you… the heat, the trembling... it’s the only time I fell right.”
I breathe trying not to cry. Then it happens - I cry.
“I’m disgusting. I know that. Just a ruined body with a dead soul, crawling through days I don’t want, jerking off to the memory of you while whispering apologies to the ceiling. You were everything. I’m... I’m filth. Less than that. And I miss the way you used to look at me when I begged. The way you let me beg.”
A bottle clinks. The sound of metal on tile.
“I bleed for you now, Sally.”
I’m on the bathroom floor. Cold against my skin. A razor in my shaking fingers. The overhead light hums.
“The first cut is always a kiss. Just below the skin, just enough to feel. Not enough to die. I’m not that lucky. I draw the line slow—watch it bead. It’s red like your lips. I bleed for that. For the memory of you. You made me feel human. You made me feel “useful.”
I carve another line. Just above the hip bone. A fresh one. A name. Her name.
“You always said I went too deep. In every way. And here I am, proving you right. You are perfect. I will never be good enough. I never will be. But I can hurt enough. I can offer that. Pain is honest. Pain doesn’t leave. It lingers.
I lie back. The tile is sticky with blood. The bottle rolls, empties.
“You were perfect. You are perfect. And me? I’m just a whisper in the dark. A smear of blood on porcelain. A worthless man who loved you too hard, too wrong, too much.”
“But maybe, if I bleed enough, if I scream your name loud, into the night... you’ll come back. Just once. Just to show me your cunt again. Just to let me die with something beautiful in my eyes.”
“Sunshine”
I deserve this. Every moment of it. Every burn, every lash, every shame-soaked breath I take.
You are my light, Sally—my Sunshine. And I… I was the mold under your glow. I was the thing that withered while you bloomed. You are perfect. And I am pathetic. Less than a man. A coward. A worm writhing in the heat of your memory.
I don’t cry anymore—not when I burn myself. Not when I drag a lit joint across the thin skin of my balls until it goes out, leaving a big black blister. Not when I press the tip to the head of my cock and hear the flesh crackle. That’s the only time I don’t feel sad. The only time I’m not suffocating in silence and guilt.
That’s how I know it’s real. That’s how I know I’m alive.
I mark myself for you. I carve lines into my thighs. I slap my face until it’s numb. I whip my back until blood runs warm and sticky down my spine. I fall to the floor afterward and stare at the red, hoping it’ll stain deep enough that you might see it—wherever you are. In heaven. In hell. It doesn’t matter.
This is my offering.
This is all I have.
My cock doesn’t get hard for pleasure anymore. It stiffens from shame. For pain. For the memory of you. Your beautiful, glistening SMILE—pink and perfect. I remember every fold, You let me worship. And I did like it was my only purpose on this earth.
And it was.
Now I beat my cock until it bleeds.
I twist it.
Slap it.
Burn it.
Punish it.
Remembers you.
Dreams of you.
FUCKING wrong!!!
I am disgusting.
I am broken.
I am yours.
I suffer for you. With every scar, I whisper your name. I scream your name, Sally. Until my throat goes raw. Until my voice gives out. Because I need you to hear me. Because I need the pain to drown the loneliness, even for seconds.
I’m not strong enough to die. But I’m not weak enough to stop hurting, stop living.
So I stay here, in this half-lit bathroom, blood on my thighs, my cock marked like a cursed relic, whispering:
“Please, Sunshine. Please. Take this from me. Take all of it. Take my life. I don’t want it anymore.”
When you scream into the dark—I'll be the echo!
So goodbye. My Light, My Love, My Sunshine