Gathering my thoughts up like rose petals, and letting the world shine on them to dry.
This year I’ve given up sex, drugs, alcohol, smoking and now twitter. Well, I haven’t given up twitter, just taking a break.
It’s eating me up inside. Not the absence of an orgasm as it brims over you, poured over screams and tangled legs and shoulders. Not the clink of toasting strong whiskey and dances where we end up on the ground, like children ringing around a rosey, rosey drunken world. Not the magical world of mushrooms, not the dark lustful adventures atop a washing machine, not the smooth rush of energy sucked from a cigarette. Not the narcissistic commentary on my life, nor the chase of some illusion of a promised land, where the drinks always flow, the food sates, the sex comes, where the party goes on.
I don’t need these things. But keep your crown. Fuck her. Smoke your (choice of drug here). Drink it down. Rationalize why it would have never worked out.
See if that makes you love me any less. It just might. And that eats me up a little bit. For now, for today. Tomorrow, probably not so much.
