you:
you are lying. you are young and hopeless and lost and you are not alive, to me or to anyone else. how long have you been buried six feet underneath the sucking, steaming mud of your self-given delusions? you're never going to find a way to breathe down there. there is nothing but empty space in the middle of you, where circuits should be running down and connecting your mind and reality. you probably cut them yourself to tailor to your needs your threads of thought and fake vintage, indie-looking lifestyle. it would hurt me to watch if i still cared about you. but, god, i'm so relieved that i don't love you.
you:
you need to know what you're into, i'll tell you: i'm a goddam piece of work. you flow like smoke from blister lips, to car interior, then out the rolled down window avoiding oncoming traffic, escaping into air forever. drifting away. but that's just who you are, and i know that. you never knew me back then, but empty soft packs and empty pill bottles lead me to act just like him and him and him--i'm a drug addict, too. i wish i could explain to you how i'm like him in reverse; fully alive with smudges of who i was last year. i'm vicious and i'm wild--when i'm like that it's so hard to stop myself. and i'm sorry.
you:
i actually really miss you. i was thinking to myself today what the best night i've ever had was, and it was you. my god, it was beautiful. it hurt to know you're gone and probably won't come back, but remembering made me smile really big and stupid and my eyes got watery. not from crying, just from smiling so much. you probably don't remember, though. you probably would argue the details if i bothered to talk with you about them. you probably wouldn't carry a conversation with me in the first place, anymore. and now i will never really smile when i see you. and that's how i know you're gone.
and you:
...
god.
i don't even know
where to
begin.
stay the fuck out of my life.
don't ever tell me that you love me.
i will rip your heart away.
and i will swallow it
whole.
whole.
