I was standing in front of S. I said something. I don't remember.
S called me dead and emotionless.
You're an emotionless cadaver with daddy issues, she spat.
He hits, and you can't even talk about it.
Her words maimed, killed, tore and scratched. She clawed at my insecurities, my weight, my body, my financial troubles. My best friend ripped my carefully placed shrouds in front of everyone.
Do you feel better? I asked
What?
Do you feel better?
I've never felt better.
I'm glad something good came from this.
I kept your secrets. I kept my promises. I kept my word. But you... You didn't keep my secrets. You didn't keep your promises. You didn't keep your word.
Remember.
I woke up sweating and hyperventilating. It was a dream.
Showing posts with label screwed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label screwed. Show all posts
I'm a mess
I don't regret a lot of things.
But what I regret, I always remember.
I broke numerous promises.
I falsely claimed; I have foolishly trusted.
I have pushed away; I have stayed when not needed.
Oh, well.
I'm a mess.
But what I regret, I always remember.
I broke numerous promises.
I falsely claimed; I have foolishly trusted.
I have pushed away; I have stayed when not needed.
Oh, well.
I'm a mess.
Keep on counting
1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10.
Again.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5...
My survival depends on those steady, repetitive digits. Without them, I fail to keep a calm face. Without them, I fail to be indifferent.
It's hard to describe the present, because whatever what was written before was the past.
There's a lot of mindlessness, small intervals of thoughtless fun, and silent streams of tears that don't matter.
Whenever a chance comes, I dive into whatever comfort I can find in the arms of carefree friends, who really aren't my friends, who don't know what I'm feeling, who don't know what I need, who don't know me.
So I keep on counting until it's an automatic jerk reaction to any type of confrontation.
I'm just past blaming everyone or everything.
I just want to burn, and I want to count while in flames.
Again.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5...
My survival depends on those steady, repetitive digits. Without them, I fail to keep a calm face. Without them, I fail to be indifferent.
It's hard to describe the present, because whatever what was written before was the past.
There's a lot of mindlessness, small intervals of thoughtless fun, and silent streams of tears that don't matter.
Whenever a chance comes, I dive into whatever comfort I can find in the arms of carefree friends, who really aren't my friends, who don't know what I'm feeling, who don't know what I need, who don't know me.
So I keep on counting until it's an automatic jerk reaction to any type of confrontation.
I'm just past blaming everyone or everything.
I just want to burn, and I want to count while in flames.
Oh, no...
He changed girlfriends like he changed clothes.
I was always there to see them go.
He claimed that he had a 'wandering' heart.
I told him he was full of shit and didn't want to commit.
"When one door closes, another opens," he announced.
I gave him the hairy eyeball and asked if he just compared ladies to doors.
He laughed seductively.
I couldn't help myself.
I laughed with him.
Shit.
I'm in trouble.
I've fallen in love.
I was always there to see them go.
He claimed that he had a 'wandering' heart.
I told him he was full of shit and didn't want to commit.
"When one door closes, another opens," he announced.
I gave him the hairy eyeball and asked if he just compared ladies to doors.
He laughed seductively.
I couldn't help myself.
I laughed with him.
Shit.
I'm in trouble.
I've fallen in love.
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