It is only 11:45 at night but it already feels like 2 in the morning.
A black and featurless night that washes away rational fears and
Replaces them with monsters more real than can be imagined.
I have so much to say to you, so much to tell you and show you.
But alas I cannot because understanding would be futile.
You see, my love, (if I can still call you that)
I still want you, still love you I suppose.
I am lost, adrift amid a sea of black impenetrable and so very vast.
I am unable to say that I am okay, but I am not in a desolate state of utter misery either,
I sometimes seem to trick myself into thinking so.
You see, I miss you at 5 in the early dawn when everything slumbers on the very edges of consciousness,
When the birds wake and coo to their partners.
I miss you in the depths of the night, 12 o'clock and desperate for company.
And I miss you at 3 in the afternoon when the kids get out of school
And the world rushes by in a blur from a grimy school bus window.
But, it is not really the mental connection that I crave.
It was more your body, your hands, your lips exploring parts of my body that have not yet been explored.
I am aware that I could trick many other willing guys into playing with me,
Dancing their lush tongues against already blemished skin,
But I can only imagine you holding me in the wails of my agonizing pleasure, the moans of my miserable release.
I can only see your hands caressing my hips and your back ridged beneath my exploring fingertips.
And I can definitely imagine other, more  pleasant men, guys,
That could satisfy my burning desire for a certain closeness.
Do you feel the same?
I looked at your Tumblr the other day.
It has grown wasted.
The margins of your pages have been filled with sorrow.
Am I the cause of this?
One post caught my eye.
It was a wall scribbled with words jumbled and tangles like my thoughts, and probably yours as well.
It read something I almost couldn't bear to read.
It must have expressed your feeling well, for I had seen it before, but never thought anything of it.
It said that you wished I would bleed, that I would become miserable at best.
Can't say I'm not already there.
It said you were a friends of the devils.
Is that really true?
And it said that you were too nice a person to do these things it said.
I didn't really believe it.
Above it a screen had a few words stated simply in a piercing blue.
"I wish I could you hate you but I can't bring myself to."
I guess I feel the same.
In the end, I am a broken person and you are one who fixes, a savior of wasted toys.
Was that all I was to you?
A project that needed fixing?
I didn't end up quite like how you wanted me to, I was too broken and missing too many parts you couldn't find.
It isn't shocking, that you gave up on me, I mean.
I am quite easy to abandon, you could say that yourself.
But I don't miss it like I thought I would.
No.
I kept trying to convince myself to run back to you, to beg mercy,
To stick your hammer back in your hand and lay myself bare on your worktable.
But I couldn't bring myself to ask forgiveness to what I had done.
My mind wasn't functioning enough for that.
And so now I sit here in the dark of my basement, my dog lying here beside me and snoring in a blissful sleep,
His chest rising and falling like machinery.
My veins are popping up from my hands and my fingers hurt from the non-stop typing I have been doing.
And I can only stare in fascination at the webbing of blue that coats my right hand,
The shadow it casts from the pale of my computer screen.
Did you know I haven't been eating as much lately?
I'm actually losing weight now, slowly but surely, just like I promised you.
But you can't see the end result when I will be pretty,
You won't see me spread eagle beneath you on a pillow top bed like we dreamed together.
Some other person will.
And I feel bad for you, dumping me in the black bottomless pit that is the single life, because I could be gold on the inside, it just takes some panning to see it.