there is nothing romantic in thinking you’ve got everything under control then rapidly entering a downward spiral into destruction. my mother used to apply baby lotion on my hands and i thought maybe he’d want to hold them then. there is not a hint of warmth in realising that everything you ever thought was worth holding on to never seemed to want to stay. you have become a motel in a deserted town where nothing is constant except you and emptiness. or even a gas station– people come and take, take, and take but not once do they give. i am essentially a haunted house. you like the idea of me and the beginning mystery but ten minutes into the experience you want out. you know what? just put me in the blender, stop removing bit by bit, piece by piece. you can have me, bones and all.