20.08.23, or greetings from the black hole
the kind of quiet you search for until it drains you senseless, but you can't stop seeking anyway. Hunting down the feeling of longing, the pining, the yearning, blood-stained teeth from the incomplete. It's me again. And the tips of my fingers don't feel anything since I burned them so bad.
I'm your most cherished odd one out - the one you still lie about not resenting. Such flattery never goes unnoticed, and thank you for the beer you payed for. It tastes just like my dad cries.
I read about him all the time, the unmeetable kindred spirit. Mostly because his chemical imbalance is the same as mine, and because he does the same with it - vomiting music and scribbling pain. I read he used to sit in front of the TV and pluck his guitar into nothingness, just like I do. I always feel he deserved more, but I'm not as kind to myself. Classic.
I'll avoid my friends a little more because I can't stand to feel loved for too long. I'll stay in the spot under my desk I covered in lines from poems I didn't write.
Don't come find me. Not until it's gone.
Greetings.