The strawberry milk boy. The lights are on but nobody is home kind of boy. The lost boy. There's something about his hands and how ever since that first spark you haven't stopped feeling the burning sensation on your thighs. Something about how every time you're rocking your body over his you want to whisper about loving him but never quite having the gumption. Something about knowing that it never lasts. Something about the broken glass on the kitchen floor and the way you always walk through it without shoes on. Something about knowing you'll get hurt and knowing it shouldn't be like this. Something about needing more. Something about always being the one to say sorry anyway. Something about the end.

Halfway through my binge.
I'm breathing steady.
One more day and I can remember how.
It'll be habit.
I'll get through this.
My eyelids are so heavy.
I've mixed so much together.
I won't dream tonight.
That'll help
Dreams are for the whole, the innocent.
Those capable.
With potential.
One more day.
To fill the hole.