(no subject)
the movement of my hesitant hips is out of sync with the pulsing techno music, I sway reluctantly, wanting my body to react to the environment, to the music, to anything. An endless stream of bearded hippie boys who all know my name, who playfully call me marla and dig their dirty fingers into my wild hair, sticking out at all angles. I want to be here, I don't want to be anywhere. I curl myself into smaller and smaller positions on the bed, hiding my face in my knees, ignoring the drunken boy with women's panties peeking out from beneath his stained, deteriorating jeans. I hold the phone to my ear with my arm that feels particularly wobbly, my bones are mush, he's saying he needs me, he's saying come home, come home, come home. Now that he's obsessed, now that he feels his existence is empty without me; now I lose interest, ever so slowly but far too rapidly for anyone to understand. I don't understand. Hannah is screaming, throwing shoes across the room, speaking so quickly that her words collide into one another, rushing, fleeing the prison of her body. And then she's slumped on the floor, staring despondently at some invisible point in the empty air surrounding her. She is me but I am growing, up or down I can't decide, but we don't fit together like we used to. My shape has changed, it must have. I don't fit where I used to and I'm exhausted with the act of cramming into spaces too small to hold my sadness, or endless empty spaces that echo and tease me with the euphoria that used to consume me. I'm coming home to you isaac, I want to feel the way I used to. but I don't mean it or I know its impossible. Matt is my home now, but it was unintentional and I'll continue to fight it with all the strength in my weary body. I cut my hair off and I've stopped eating again, the cold frigid air is slithering so effortlessly beneath my skin. I want to be fucked until I forget who I am or the lack of desire that terrorizes me. I want to be held so tightly that I can't see or feel or fall apart. I want to sleep for a very long time. I've been forbidden from speaking his name and I play along with these tired acts of jealousy but his presence still haunts my days and I can't grasp what happened or what didn't. His apathy filled in gaping portions of my heart and hollowed out my mind, I was the stephani I remember again, the one chasing a ghost, being ripped apart by unrequited obsession. We should do what comes naturally, ignore me and I love you, love me and I'll ignore you. Men want to break me, destroy my facade of nonchalance. No one realizes I've been living my life on the floor, crawling sluggishly from obsession to obsession, losing shape and girth, becoming more and more translucent and meaningless. So break me, or love me, I won't feel a thing because I feel everything.