I don't want to be anymore.
I've been swallowed up into this endless void,
repetition. repetition. repetition.
There is no conclusion.
Day after day, so predictable.
Wake up, leave, work, come back.
Cry, sleep, wake up, work.
Endless.
Weekend comes and passes in a drunken blur.
Feel happiness for a moment, one blissful moment.
Everything is okay.
Next morning, realize everything was just a lie.
An allusion brought on by the drugs.
All of the things you did, you didn't really do.
You were sitting in the same spot,
the one you were in when you took the first sip.
You body stiffened.
Glued to the spot.
Minds were connected, in one big dream.
A dream of how we wish we were.
I used to not understand the appeal
of burning throats for a bit of dizziness.
Oh, but how now I see,
how great it is, to waste it all away.
Your mind,
your body,
the wispy slivers of gold that make up your spirit.
It makes everything okay for a little while.
Or does it?
Too confused to realize what's happening,
too distracted by the blur to think of pain.
It numbs.
Physically, no pain.
The pressure of skin against your finger feels weird,
like you're touching someone else.
A ball of rubber.
It isn't you.
It's something
foreign.
The morning brings nausea,
face dewy with the chill of the night.
Unfamiliar bed.
Empty.
Retch until you swear some insides
fall
out.
Her legs don't touch.
Mine do.
Her arms are slim.
Mine aren't.
Her face, flawless.
Mine isn't.
Her heart is filled with
hope.
I don't know the word.
