there are too many things which I’d like to forget but none I really regret but I’d reinform you
yeah it happened, do you remember? I remember everything, the way we kissed in a drunken haze with no feeling, how I came to despise your presence
how friends that kissed became enemies, kisses - memories
and I have to admit it surprises me how they were so meaningless and I’m stuck on it, how shortly after we did nothing but argue and we never had any passion to begin with
I don’t know why I yearned for a minute every other month
or why we haven’t even said hello since I broke that bottle at the pool, was our friendship really so bad?
all the casual sex in the world never felt a fraction of how it feels to fuck in love and there is no comfort in sex with people you feel nothing for, those things I might regret, a little. that almost-fight that scared you off
more things I’d like to forget, cowards and cat-women, clawing at you and clawing into you
but brazen swords of self-righteousness aren’t harnessed in this instance, for sure, though you were paranoid and should have stayed away from the powder, and the mushrooms, that really didn’t help
and it didn’t help I kept rolling every weekend to find myself awake all night and day and shaking while being a mule at work, coming down, needed the coffee to keep my eyes open and my feet moving
I just wanted to get rid of that shit that had a hold on you, but had it not gotten the best of you I wouldn’t be here
so I suppose I should thank you
constantly reaping what we sow, I can’t say if it’s bad or good, probably just neutral, learning is a neutral experience because ignorance is bliss but we crave the insight
the mornings I spent telling myself I wasn’t disgusting, didn’t need anyone, wasn’t like them, wasn’t going to die
I just wanted to be at home, at peace and in harmony, but I’ve always fought with myself and now all that time I spent there brings anxiety and I tremble all over again, but why can’t I let it go, let the past be the past, stop digging it up? that’s probably the masochist in me, or maybe it’s my perception
it’s always in the perception
you were my friend, at least that’s what I thought. I wonder if you even cared that I disappeared from your sight
probably not, since I was a last resort
and I still don’t know what happened between me and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you
so many unresolved things, I’ll never get closure ‘cause you’re already closed
old friends, old foes, old lovers and woes
I need to empty my mind, but where to leave the trash?