Fuck.
The world.
Today.
The only arms I want wrapped
around my body tonight is your sweet porcelain touch
as i sink farther and farther
beneath the foamy white bubbles, you rising up to meet me
loosening the noose I've spent
all day winding around my neck,
forcing me to surrender my
electronic bullets before entering your gentle waters
your lavender breath overriding
the shit I’ve been wading in all day
I'm done.
No more elegant facades.
The door is locked.
I have my spoon, my jar of
nutella, my pot of tea
My head in the game for the
Six hours of Downton Abbey
streaming on my laptop that's about to take place
with NO amount of shame because,
fuck it.
After the day I've had, I need to
believe there was a better time to be alive
to strive for my own Matthew
Crawley because he's got to be out there but
tonight, his name is Moen because
frankly, i'm not trying to be on
my feet any more than I absolutely have to
and lord knows I have enough
pressure on my plate right now
to go around and share.
The phone is off for a reason and
thank god we’re past the age of landlines.
You’d have to throw a pretty
large soup can through my window right now
To get in contact with me, the
string has been cut
I’ve shut myself away inside your
loyal trench so
Please leave a message after the
tone, ass hole.
I’ll get back to you as soon as
it’s possible for you to get your own damn coffee.
But you know this and
maybe that's what I love about
you most
how you won't ask me the
questions you know I'm tired of answering every time i lay back
on that woman's chair, looking at
ink blot representations of my current "state of mind"
I'm inclined to believe your
therapy will do more than any pill but
I sware to GOD that I'll kill
that man downstairs if he doesn't stop playing that fucking trumpet.
A repetitive scale striking every
one of my nerves note by note
It’s rhythm a brand of hate searing
into my memory
Images of his body blowing air
Out of new
holes I’ll create for him with my bare hands.
Some days I don't think people
will ever learn,
But you—oh holy basin. Your holy
water
is the only thing reminding me
that what comes after Thursday is always
vodka, and that should be enough
to get me by but why
I can’t have a few shots now is
becoming less and less clear and
Goddamn when did Tom get so hot!
Enough with the American dream
New life
plan: buy a ticket to Ireland
At least they understand my coping mechanisms.
And even
though you’ll never be long enough or deep enough
Or stay
warm long enough I forgive you and I know that you
Will always
be there to wear out the paper creases of late credit card payments
Chiseled deep
within my forehead causing me to age even more prematurely
In a
never ending cycle of stressful demands my hands are tied to you
Like a
lifesaving raft bringing me safely back to shore after a lifetime of trying to
stay afloat.
and I'll stick with you until my toes look like prunes, and my hands feel like dried out pickles
and I've peed so many times I know even your magic hands can't hide the fact
that I am the most disgusting human being ever soaking in my own filth
but I don't care because i know that sometimes life is like you
and deep down i really love it and
deep down i really crave it and
deep down i really need it
and lord knows I'll never leave.
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