rip the fucking thing wing from wing. use up all of that beauty. pass it on empty, dead, a husk. then haunt my thoughts after i regrow transparent moth appendages. keep my daydreams pedaling your old bullshit. my eyes on the rear view, never to my left. the past will rewrite itself so you will always be my hero, instead of the evil slain by my kick in the teeth.
i woke up this morning in pain, in fever, regretting ever having fallen asleep. burst from this stupid closed eye mind fuck in tears, clutching madly at my phone, wondering if the conversation had actually taken place, if we could really go back to normal. felt reality spiralling into me. i missed just the one call, and it was not from you.
a man can live his life going to work, paying bills, bringing his work home, and finish up his days not choking on smooth grey goose. He will not be sad or empty because he can stare at the painting on the wall, the one from the girl standing in for the other girl, can open the refrigerator and see the take out containers from a night on the town, can walk by the garbage and note the used condoms mixed with the empty toilet paper rolls and dirty q tips.
he can go days without love, for he has so many boxes to tick off, so many people to piss off, so many images with which to get off. He is used to solitude, and believes he is enlightened here, as he was up in his formidable tower, away from the noise of me pounding on the keys.
substance. we abuse you. we are sorry, but you are so obsequious. so malleable. so attainable. could you try to be more aloof?
my thoughts during slumber lead me to one cold truth. i am afraid that the past will repeat itself and that my summer of debauchery will end and his will go on and on. that i will be shaking a rag doll, trying to find a more important meaning to love than one i have ever experienced. something more pure, with actual lines, not just suggestions. my thoughts will go places he cannot follow because the pain of living not chemically induced is one i am am used to, one i prefer to the mellow float because we are not floating. we are staying still while life quietly passes us by.
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