Fuck it

I’ve always been good at making a mess, always good at repeating myself. Always good at breaking a good thing, or ruining something because I can - not because I want to. The last thing I want is to be alone, and it’s always the reward I get for being myself. Everyone wants the chaos but they’re too afraid to put their mouth directly on it. Young girls don’t need anything to make sense of you. All you need to do is stand there with your arms open, and they can read you like my shitty writing.

I took myself apart the past three weeks - as I’ve been old fashioned heart broken, did it to myself of course. On any given morning you’ll find me reaching out between the bars of my porch to anyone with a beating heart or long fake eye lashes - girls with astrological insights. Anyone with answers. Puffy mouths always know what I need so I lean into that. It’s like a dance, stupid slow slide, stupid boy moves. Ever cry into a piece of clothing? there’s nothing more pathetic or gay. I keep the old perfumes and pictures close by because I can use them when I need them. For when I miss her so much my body turns on me, and I have to punch myself in the stomach to calm down. My shower has a leak and has been running slowly from the head for weeks, I refuse to fix it. Because it’s like a clock somehow and I imagine whenever it finally stops - I’ll know what to do next.

When you take yourself apart down to your bare parts you see there’s not much holding anything together. Just pain, basically. And pain is like glue, or chaos memory. You can build a whole personality off that and we usually do. Dating younger people, the contrasts are glaring because lived life and lived pain turn into the same thing. I’ve been carrying a lot of garbage around with me until recently, I buried it in the yard. I watched two raccoons play at 4am the other day. They were running, jumping, and throwing each other onto the ground. They looked like cartoons, and I looked pathetic, crying and watching them. The moon has been cursed mostly, but I now understand that the moon was innocent the whole time, and I was just burning bad gasoline and ruining things all over again.

I surround myself with people who keep me calm - but no part of me is capable of interacting beyond a conversation. My body is numb, I haven’t jerked off in weeks. The thought of sex is alien - all I can feel is the pain around my heart and in my ribs. It’s a constantly nagging, constantly pulling, always there kind of thing. It’s shitty, and never goes away. I do not know if it will go away. But if we’re being real, I never want it to.

I know I’m not the only one in this, who did it. Sometimes people get a taste of the world without you and realize they don’t need you. Having the lights shut on your love feels like a gunshot, it’s the same volume and just as final. I don’t know what to do with it, after my ears stop ringing. People usually scream or pass out - I screamed a bit, and said things I didn’t mean. But the shot did me good - half healed me, half reminded me of who I was before it all started.

But mostly, I just miss the sweetness.