| This is for someone who would talk to me until I'd fall asleep and even after that.
Tim, if you're reading this know that I still think of you and miss you.
I'm sorry for the way we parted. And for everything. |
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| I make myself feel less because I am less. Hearts are ruined and mine is thrown up with last night and all of its evils. My muscles are tensing and my chest is hollowing itself out like the pumpkins children decorate with scary faces and toothless grins. I want to rip my hair out, to scream, to gnash my teeth. I want to go home. I want to take pills and drink myself stupid.
Until I can't feel my head. |
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| Your statement has shrouded my thoughts in a thick fog and has made me question what I had been so certain of. This may very well be after two Schlitz's and a King Kobra but fuck. If I'm ever to be honest, now is the time. It's unfortunate that it takes copious amounts of malt liquor and a mouthful of anti anxiety medications to make me realize how it is I really feel. Being so fucked up that you can barely open your next bottle or having to close one eye to see. That's what I need to admit how I feel. Come morning those feelings will be gone, as well as the confidence behind them. They'll go back down in the depths of my mind and heart and continue to hide there until I'm not so scared anymore. I think I love you. I'll never admit it. Not sober at least. Not to you. I can't. I love someone else and they love me and I refuse to fuck up something so wonderful with someone even more wonderful because you decided you made a mistake. Because you were four months late for the train. How do I end up in these predicaments? Oh, yeah, because I'm selfish and one person's love isn't enough. I need all the fucking love...that I couldn't truly process regardless of whether I have it or not. Is it the will of some divine power for me to fuck up anything good that happens to me? No, it's probably just me and nothing about this muddled skin heap is divine. Then there's the "what if". That fucking "what if", jamming itself into the middle of anything good I have and fucks it in the ass. I hate that you're sleeping with her.You don't love her. I can guarantee that, even if you have uttered those words, they never had nearly as much meaning as when you said them to me. Maybe you and I are meant to be, we're both completely wretched and evil people. It's fortunate that I'm so incredibly fucked, it's apparently a huge turn on. Someone like me doesn't leave themselves too many options and in my particular case there's just one. Before the inevitable happens, I'd like to do just a little more growing. Create at least one memorable and beautiful thing. Something to remember me by other that dick jokes and nice tits. Since I was thirteen, dying is all I've ever wanted. It's the strongest feeling I've ever had and dwarfs any semblance of love I've ever encountered. 
I'll never have children because I'm a bathtub. A bathtub you filled and left waiting too long. The water got cold and stagnant. Strands of hair floating around in it from all those times in the shower that you couldn't get them off of your fingers and wiped them on the walls. This leaves you one option. You just drain it. You just drain me. |
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| All of my emotions are songs and the great plains are really inside my chest. My head is a lighthouse and your face is the ship I'm guiding to the bottom of the ocean. |
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