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I’ve always imagined I would end up with someone named Sam. I think it started somewhere around age 13, when I sat earnestly inside of the closet and somehow felt even more painstakingly alone than I do now. I would shower for hours and think of her, I told nobody the depths of our relationship, not even myself. Inside my head she had short hair but pretty eyes and was my height, sometimes shorter, and she drove me to places I had never gone but always dreamed of trying out. She walked firmly and with purpose. I named her Sam because I could still say her name out loud.

Drug addiction, usage, dependency is funny because its infectious, like the trouble behind liking the burn or the laugh of the newest airborne virus finding the immunocompromised, there’s no right way to use. We say controlled, harm reduction, but I'm not really sure there's a wrong way to do it either. They say moderation, cold turkey, some vices are worse than others, but are they? It all depends on what happens afterwards, the consequences, the aftermath. Freebasing is harder than it looks and apparently so is stopping.

Sam wasn't necessarily an imaginary friend, more a person I knew I would one day meet. The first few girls I kissed I compared to her, knowing they wouldn't be able to last because she was waiting for me. I remember when I started a new job and my sweet anxiety stricken coworker, who was an inch taller than me, sheepishly introduced herself as Sam. She had a boyfriend and now she has another.

I thought maybe running a red light would cheer you up. Fairly sadistic if you ask me, but that's no longer a bad thing, it's just authentic. I did it twice for good measure, and each time you cracked a smile. Later I could hear you talking through the wall. I wasn't sure if you knew we could hear you so I moved away to be safe, being safe has become increasingly harder these days, to the point where my vision hasn't focused since I got back to town and I've started to tighten my jaw in order to try to ******' ***. It gets harder every single day.

Drugs smell like ****, all of them, every single one. They taste like dehydration and gasoline and a painful lack of sleep, they taste ******* disgusting. I've never met anybody other than myself that was able to put them down when prompted but I've also never met anybody that genuinely preferred having none. Why are we numbing, dulling, minimizing these feelings? Who decided that was somehow more freeing?
I want to write a poem about being
so I buy clay. I try to make a sculpture
of what it is that I’m feeling and it looks like
absolute ****, it isn’t my fault
my hands are just too weak to
carry the weight of the mixture I tried to make.
that you once were.
I try again.
I lift and I punch and I mold
and I kneed and
I grab the clay like I’m
grabbing the back of your head,
your hair in my fist so now it’s grey between my fingers once again
and I hit and I switch and I try so hard to make something sturdy  

it needs to be cooked to stand up straight.
maybe you’re just not there yet.
matilda shaye May 12
my body is so hot that it’ll heat up the entire
room if we’re too lazy to turn the fan on,
I think you find it endearing and luckily
I’m pretty much used to all the sweating

you switch the light bulbs in my two lamps
because the ambience or mood or maybe
we just don’t need anymore warmth in here
and I lay, strategically covering
the parts of me that I don’t want you to see

it’s mid february and we’re both in blazers,
holding hands with new haircuts and some
of the healthiest appetites I’ve seen from two
people that are pretty comfortable
with the ache of starvation

it's the beginning of may and we're both
five lbs heavier, yours went straight to your ***
and mine went to my emotional baggage
we try not to speak, we try to just listen
but nothing feels as filling as just being heard
I got a migraine on the drive
so I had to turn around
my visions been half gone
for four half hours and
the whole time the whole
world has had a heartbeat
is it this pulsating in the
gunk behind my eye, the
space you'd hit if you took
a spoon to my socket
and scooped, that's causing
the entirety of my brain to stop
working, at least in the way it once did?
I've managed to survive enough
of my own cycles
to start to be able to estimate
what will come next-

I really want my life to be more
than wasting time,
walking instead of driving and
drinking instead of not,
if you tell somebody, who is
important to you,
that they are in fact,
important to you, and they
don't say it back or really say
anything about it at all,
is it safe to assume you are not
important to them?
is it then therefore safe to assume that you
aren't important to anybody at all?
im not sure if I can do this
I didn't feel the need to look at a clock a single time today but I ate two full meals and smiled every time that I wanted too, maybe if I had ever managed to get a passport so I could leave this country or even if I worked for the census and spent everyday counting people I could explain to you the unfortunate size of this world that refuses to die off better but instead I'll say that there's a rag in your pocket just in case because you spill a lot and while you're at it you're catching my crumbs, I'm singing along to the universe for reminding me to unclench my jaw and relax my shoulders and let out the breath I've been holding in and loosen my ****** grip there's bruises all over your body, I think today I realized I will always prefer to be this filled with love and dread.
I need to edit this but I'm too tired and wanna stare at a hot girls ****
matilda shaye Jan 26
each movement is carefree
this has been what's coming for me
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