I will admit I miss holding you in my arms as you cry, as you weep for a future that isn't going your way. Little hallow body pressed against mine, face pressed into my shoulder as the salty tears dampen the fabric of my sweater. I try to imitate drag out tears from my eyes... but instead I just whimper, whine and whine. I will admit I miss driving in your, well my, car listening to you talk about things I didn't much care about and of course I did listen but acted mostly like I didn't, just to show I that I didn't care because I did but I didn't want to you to think I did. Its silly, how I make it impossible and I feel like a bitch about it. Its silly, how I default to rejection, deflection, adding to a digression with my awful suggestions that repulse, that annoy, that push me the fuck away. I dedicate this to the junkie bible, spraying my blood out of a needle all over the carpet cause I'm just a fucking jerk and I don't care... but I do. Who the fuck am I kidding? I ran away and I'll keep running away to find some fake something to keep me busy but I'm dying like my brothers and sisters born with a target on their backs, without a shred of dignity and with adolescent minds in decaying bodies.
Oh why do I think these things? Oh why do I say those things? Its like my busted filter only filters out the meaning and the bullshit drips through the tiny holes in my brain (oh why do I think those things oh why do i say those words?) and I drunkenly preach such beautiful sermons and I pontificate off of the junkie pulpit in a slanted pose holding up my body as my eyes struggle to stay open oh why do I do these things oh why do i lose control? Cause when I'm sober I feel older feel like a solider in a war that we are all losing the pointing fingers can;t stop accusing and its just the ones that are pointing back when I said I was raised to be a failure oh why did I say those words oh why did I do those things?
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