I think about your bare skin,
carresed by the sheets.
I think about your touch,
is it rough? Is it kind?
I think about how you sleep at night,
with someone in your bed.
Do you bite the lip of the person kissing you?
Did their breathing change?
How does your hair smell?
Maybe it smells like rain.

Thoughts of you haunt.
Thoughts of you touching the person I love.

What you ruined,
drink with me over it.

I can't.

I'm ****** up.
I'm drunk right now.
Isn't it hilarious?
The last time I was like this was two months ago.
Two months ago when I lost my "best" ******* friend.
Make it stop.
Save me from this stupid thing called love.
I'm incapable of true love.
Is it because of him, her, you, me?
I ask like it matters.
I ask like it ever mattered.
Ha, good one...
******* HOLD ME.
Don't touch me.
Come back to me.
Never leave.
She's gone.
It's my fault too.
Who cares though?
I don't because, well, I'm a ******* mess.
I feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
I don't exist.
I'm not dead.
I'm just nothingness.
I'm nothingness wishing for a drip.
An IV drip.
Drip from the Molly.
The drip from the X.
Numbness from the narcotics.
Kiss me.
Leave me.
I'll rock your world.
Then ask you to go.
I'm saving you.
I promise.

"I wish to engage in many battles of the tongues with you, m'lady."

I've lost my mind.
Somewhere down the line.
Maybe I set it down to parachute the pill.
Maybe I set it down to light the grass.
Maybe I set it down to drink to the last drop.
Maybe I set it down to light the cancer.
Should I even pick it up?
It's probably covered in dust and filth.
Part of me is glad that it's gone.
Why would I trade a vice for a thought?