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tar · falling · off · in · chunks · with · molted · feathers

Why the fire didn't kill what it was supposed to.

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People linger. Dennis lingers. My dearest love, you sent me a cock shot this morning and asked me to send you a picture of my tits. While I pine, I yearn and I slay myself for causing this meandering narcissism in you, for surely it is my fault, I want more than to be labeled permanently a whore. I labeled myself that for you so that you could hate me and move on, and yet now I pull at the bonds holding me to it. Regret is a bastard.

I wish I knew how to make you stop finding me. I wish I knew how to stop answering you when you call, or how to release myself from the tides of bleeding that happen after you. I seem to want that though, or I would not let myself rehash all of the things I cannot have and will not ever have again after you. How do I make myself believe that there is something better out there than clinging to this awful pain? How do I live here in this half life with nothing to do but relive every moment with you and crush myself in guilty anguish? How can I make the horrors of that single decision go away?

You will never go away on your own will you... I suppose it is my lot in life to sit alone and cry. I did a lot of sitting alone and crying when I was with you, so why would that change after you. So.. No you can't have a shot of my boobs, and I will not flirt with you Dennis. That is the fastest way to be sure that you will go, having assured yourself that I am what I claim, and run away self satisfied that you have always been correct in your assumptions of me.

You see my love, I am both terrified that you will stop pestering me, and also that you won't. I guess that is my nature as well, the duality of my desires. for tonight, I will simply listen the the cure, and remember all those damned islands, and how you saved me so many times, from so many things. I will remember running away from you, because you did not save me, and refused to save us. I will remember trying desperately to be something other than the other half of you, and my failure at that task. I will remember how your hands feel on my skin, and how utterly lost I am without that touch. I will remember how safe and how taken care of I was, and of how completely I destroyed myself when I destroyed you.

I will remember you Dennis. And while I do that, I really hope you don't text me, because you can't handle me when I am like this. You pretend to care and hang up as quickly as possible, and I don't blame you for that, I would do the same. After all, I'm just the crazy whore that you are lucky to be rid of, right?
Current Location:
The place where we were
Current Mood:
depressed depressed
Current Music:
Trust, the Cure
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