(no subject)
all quiet on the western front.
it was one of those nights, where you find yourself breathing heavily into the carpet. the castle walls formed by fallen cans and bottles securing your high and mighty attitude of "yes, i'm fine. leave me the fuck alone.". dragging yourself to your feet seems like so much effort, here. and, if you do manage, you can't meet anyones eyes, afraid they'll ask what's wrong. but these people are not friends, only fuel to the fire. they'd never ask.
earlier that night had you sitting across from her at the kitchen table. breathing smoke and drowning in fifty-proof liquor. she looks at you like a prize fighter sizing up the opponent. every shot, cracking her knuckles. every drag a jab in the right direction: below the belt.
she asks, "so what happened between you and that girl?" i stare into my chaser. "an amalgamation of bullshit. why do you care?" she looks at me oddly, honestly surprised i'm being this defensive. everyone knows me to be wounded, never volatile. she leans back in her chair and sighs. "i honestly care about you zack, you know that. fucking talk to me. her leaving you isn't the end of the goddamn world." i laugh. "well yeah, you're right. not the end of the world. although the carefully crafted universe of mine, yeah, destroyed."
she pours me a shot and slides it across the slick table. i down it without so much as a grimace. being that intoxicated has it's benefits, i suppose. i am slowly rising to my feet and retrieving a beer from the fridge that will only ever contain alcohol. she stops me. pushes her hands against my shoulders, forcing me against the fridge. she leans in and says "you will only ever be happy if you fucking let yourself. it's your fault you lost her. you're a sad pathetic fuck who can't ever see the good in what he has and it makes me fucking sick." she lets go, and walks out the door.
walking through the kitchen into the living room, i collapse on the floor next to a battlefield of expended drinks.
it was one of those nights, where you find yourself breathing heavily into the carpet. the castle walls formed by fallen cans and bottles securing your high and mighty attitude of "yes, i'm fine. leave me the fuck alone.". dragging yourself to your feet seems like so much effort, here. and, if you do manage, you can't meet anyones eyes, afraid they'll ask what's wrong. but these people are not friends, only fuel to the fire. they'd never ask.
earlier that night had you sitting across from her at the kitchen table. breathing smoke and drowning in fifty-proof liquor. she looks at you like a prize fighter sizing up the opponent. every shot, cracking her knuckles. every drag a jab in the right direction: below the belt.
she asks, "so what happened between you and that girl?" i stare into my chaser. "an amalgamation of bullshit. why do you care?" she looks at me oddly, honestly surprised i'm being this defensive. everyone knows me to be wounded, never volatile. she leans back in her chair and sighs. "i honestly care about you zack, you know that. fucking talk to me. her leaving you isn't the end of the goddamn world." i laugh. "well yeah, you're right. not the end of the world. although the carefully crafted universe of mine, yeah, destroyed."
she pours me a shot and slides it across the slick table. i down it without so much as a grimace. being that intoxicated has it's benefits, i suppose. i am slowly rising to my feet and retrieving a beer from the fridge that will only ever contain alcohol. she stops me. pushes her hands against my shoulders, forcing me against the fridge. she leans in and says "you will only ever be happy if you fucking let yourself. it's your fault you lost her. you're a sad pathetic fuck who can't ever see the good in what he has and it makes me fucking sick." she lets go, and walks out the door.
walking through the kitchen into the living room, i collapse on the floor next to a battlefield of expended drinks.