The Selfish Writer

She woke up in the middle of the night, he was smoking weed, tripping and reading a book.

We need to break up, she said, I am breaking up with you; What? Why? What’s going on babe?

I am a writer, and I can’t write without feeling things, I haven’t been feeling it since I met you.

But baby, how can that be my fault, I haven’t done anything wrong, he protested.

Shut up and fuck me to oblivion, my head hurts.

He obliged, she is his sin and everything is about her.

* This is written based on Denise’s Six Sentence Story prompt – Sin