I stand in my kitchen at 3:11 on a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon waiting for the toaster to pop and realize never in my life have I felt so alone

I write when I get insomnia
drawing in the dark is rather hard
I’ve written a lot the past weeks
and slept little
I’ve never been in his bed yet I long for it
I’m addicted without ever tasting it
In cold sweats awake at night
I need more
I wouldn’t need to write late at night if I had his skin to write all over
His lips to draw all over
and to kiss goodnight

Wake up, shoot yourself in the foot, cry about it, I guess. Rip off your toe nails, you don’t need them anyway. Choke yourself, but only metaphorically. Run, run, run in the rain, far, far away. Get hit by a car, saving a cat, fall down, down, down into the rabbit hole, panic