I’m only not knowing that all my strings have been cut when we’re locked in this filthfuck, this grappling in the dirt and the muck that we carry wherever we go. I know I’m a puppet, I know I’m playing games, I know I’m being played, but with your limbs leaving marks I’m forever forgetful for the forever that lasts right up until I get up, take a shower, and go back to the way my life is supposed to be lived. 

 

I keep meaning to lose your number. I keep meaning to lose the need to have you around to make me numb-er. I keep meaning to do a million things I never do, and that this has been an intention for as many as nine years or as few as seven (because time is never linear for me, I have no lucid chronology and this is only one of the ways you know me, the ways you knew me) isn’t terribly surprising. I am almost always fat full of intent and I am also almost always failing. 

 

Every time I crawl out of your car, covered in you, thighs slick with sweat and everything I used to forget that I feel, I am slammed back down to an earth where I am moving precisely how I am told, how I am required. I am set back down, cold, wet, tired and just a little bit less human than I was when I began. 

 

It is these times that I wonder if I am using you for more than the things I know I am using you for. If I have become a mystery even to myself, if I have become such a gifted liar that I am not even capable of telling myself the truth, about this or any of the other stupid and ugly crimes I am always committing, always committed to. It is these times that I think I might be crawling all over you in a desperate attempt to crawl out of me.

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**A note: The person who sent this included a url to a blog. I’m not posting it right now, as I’m not certain that they wanted it included. So, if you’re out there reading this, author, let me know and I’ll happily add it.**

 

i’m
thinking of you again. 
how stupid. 
almost a year and you still have this hold on my heart
my mind, 
my soul 
my BEING
it’s late
i’m high on cocaine, thinking of when we used to share that and then make love
knowing that now
all i have is pornography and your fading memory to satisfy me
i hope that you are happy.
no, i really hope that you are miserable but i know that part of the healing process is letting go 
but i’m not ready to do that yet.
i still love you- i’ll always love you
i hope that you find what you need
and
i’ll still
be here

loving you

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