my friend’s girlfriend died last night/early this morning.

really unexpected.

my uncle might die soon, they have him in end of life hospice.

a few of my cousins, my aunt, my granny, dead.

people around me droppin’ like flies.

I’ve never handled death appropriately. I don’t mourn for the dead, just memories. I’ve never cried at a funeral. I don’t know if that means something is wrong with me or not. the dead, I imagine, are more at peace. I cry when I feel the pain of others for their losses but don’t feel the loss for myself. am I horrid or just accepting?

too much I.

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?

I just need something good, no matter how small, to give me a glimpse of happiness each day that won’t in seconds fade away

(Source: velveteenabbey)

it’s not one-night stands, we still hold hands, even with that double-edged blade in between… but you can’t seem to see your force in it. will the real martyr please stand up? “self-righteous” you say, but you’re the worst… I’ve changed so many things just to be with you, to make things run smoothly - all you’ve done is tell me how I shouldn’t be and how I make shit happen, how it’s all my fault. I start all the fights, I’m the one that gets mad when you drink, I made you hurt me by saying I was leaving, I made you do all this this and this… I’m the one that’s accused you of cheating, I’m the one that thinks you’re a liar, I’m the one… always the fucking one to place all the blame on. I make your life so miserable by caring. you drink to have a good time [god knows you can’t have a good time elsewise] and it’s all my fault, then it’s my fault I get upset that you drink, then it’s my fault you get upset that I get upset, then it’s my fault you start yelling at me and calling me names, then I’m belittling you by having a problem with any of it, then it’s my fault I get quiet when you tell me to shut the fuck up and leave you the fuck alone, then it’s my fault I want to leave when you tell me to leave or remind me that I can leave at any time, then it’s my fault when I do leave that you hold me back and push me into things, then it’s my fault for trying to defend myself that one time by punching you in the jaw and kicking you in the balls, then it’s my fucking fault I end up in the police station, then it’s my fault for bringing the police to the house because they took me right back to this house because I had no where else to fucking go, then it’s my fault for moving here to be with you in the first place [you didn’t make me do it!], then it’s my fault your parents are upset that we’re fighting and I don’t agree with you, then it’s my fault they won’t take me home [according to you, I didn’t have the heart to ask], then it’s my fault I’m suspicious, then it’s my fault I don’t think you love me. then you apologize, “but you did this this and this” which makes it all my fault still, so you have no fucking hand in any fucking thing. “can I make it up to you?” you don’t fucking want to make any of it up to me, you just want to have a good time and all I do is stand in the way of that. because you love me so fucking much, with all your heart, more than anything in the world, so much so that you can’t express yourself in an original manner instead of using cliches we’ve all heard a million times before. I just happened to be the lucky person that reciprocated your desire to hang out, but not your desire to just not be lonely, “I hate being alone”, when I told you not to get with me out of loneliness. I’m your second-hand bitch that’s only supposed to tell you how fucking awesome you are and what you do is. go fuck Megan Sweet, she’s getting her job back at Sonic, and that’s only a block from your work. 30 minutes is enough time a day to fuck her up too, right? oh, and when you get off work, come to my job and drink as much as offered to you so you don’t have to feel guilty for a god damn thing… you’ve done so much for me and everyone else around you, you deserve it… because drinking is so great that you have to fucking earn it by being incapable of dealing with the real world… or, as you put it, “I’ve had a bad day and just want to drink and relax, maybe play some guitar.”

I’m not allowed to be mad, not allowed to do my own things without you interrupting [and if I reciprocate affection haphazardly because I’m busy you get pissed off even though you do the same thing but don’t even reciprocate], not allowed to not kiss and hug you immediately when I get home from work, not allowed to talk to Dan, not allowed to talk to my friends [because most of them are male], not allowed to be quiet, not allowed to get impatient when we play games together [and not allowed to take care of my shit on them if they can’t be done with you], not allowed to listen to my music with headphones, not allowed to go outside and be by myself… except of course by not allowed I mean you get angry when I do any of these things, which means you don’t ask me to change them, which means you’ve never asked me to change myself for you, although apparently you’ve had to change everything for me because I’ve told you I wish you wouldn’t drink every day [wouldn’t get drunk and fight me (and other people), hold me back and hurt me, which again is my fault because I start it by apparently being mad every single time you take a drink].

but I am the self-righteous one.

I get it. I get it. I get it.