(no subject)
I try to ignore the emptiness that hollows out the room, closing my eyes and riding digilently, trying to be somewhere else, in another life, perhaps. destroy the desire for that which is impossible, and accept what you get with a smile. but I'm incapable or unwilling. I'll never have him fully, by my rigid old fashioned standards, and that sparks a need for a certain level of indifference, of flighty nonchalance. Especially around her. Drunken voice mails, she hasn't heard my voice in almost three years, vodka and orange juice and my fingers gliding effortlessly over the keyoboard, hello darling, oh just a drink or two, but soon I'm on the floor and I'm spinning in one direction, the room twirling recklessly in another, I mumble through the vomit, I have trouble with loneliness, I'm so sorry. there are garish red cuts on my arm and a painful grimace on my face when no one is looking. Do you think I'm happy here? Am I happy anywhere? My stomach is weak and it is empty, I'm increasingly pleased upon inspection of my diminishing frame each morning. Your love is draining me, I'm dwindling into nothingness again and I enjoy it. Hannah's words are firm and unrelenting, she questions how I swallow the tragic lies I feed myself, how I gobble down man after man and proclaim the deepest of loves. you don't love and you don't need, you're preoccupying yourself, once a flower in the park in prescott made you happy and now nothing does, I don't know where you've gone or why you limit yourself. the boy next door wants me, the boy at target, the boy... I flaunt and I tease, I have the desire to incite jealousy in him. I want to hurt him, the compulsion grows with each denial of my intensely fragile heart. He turns my arm over lightly, averting his eyes slightly from the 50 horizontal scabs and says, you're not strong enough to take care of yourself. Maybe I don't want to. Maybe I am envious of blake's newfound salvation with jesus christ. He's discarded the dissatisfied, destructive life and escaped himself, almost fully. We shared the need to be anyone but who we were, his darkness rivaled mine and brought me an odd sense of comfort. My head is heavy and my body reeks of sex, I hate waking up to two people instead of one. I hate the way he makes my ideals on love and monogamy seem trite and close-minded. I want to be the only one, apparently that groups me into everyone who fails to understand him. I'm not alone because I don't care enough, about anything. I'm not alone because someone always wants me and saying yes is easier. I'm not alone because I've been detached from everyone for so long that loneliness and happiness don't exist anymore, and if they do, there's no distinction between the two. I stare at pictures of isaac and I beg my heart to react, even the slightest twitch would do. His face is beautiful, but strange to me. That symmetrical, sculpted face is no longer one I recognize. I only know how to lose things, not to keep them.