It doesn't burn my throat fast enough. It doesn't rebel against the other acids in the pit of my stomach. It doesn't make me want to clench my jaw and inhale profoundly. It leaves me alleviated. Leaves me in a trance. It's quite strange. Your absence affects me more than your presence. I'm always looking for answers that don't require to be answered. Yet here I am. With a triple distilled bottle of Tequila in one hand, and a flimsy phone in the other. I know you're not the type to ask who made me like this, but rather ridicule me for my abusive behavior. For the tactics and niche I picked up making me yet, so defensive . I'm unlearning it due to inheritance. I know you're not the type to care what traumas you tend to trigger, but I am the type to figure out what wounds are still fresh and what scars still remains. But who's to say I can differentiate, using it tactically or using it sadistically. I'm so attracted to what's so broken, and it hurts to look in the mirror because I reflect such brokenness. I leave my hand and foot prints on your sand and run away like I never moaned or whispered the sweetest lies.
Wrote to myself awhile ago: They're going to ridicule you, for how you love. I like that about me, I no longer hide anything.