Unknown
Unknown Drugs, Unknown Shots.
I inject an unknown drug into my veins with an unknown needle. What does it matter whether it’s known or not? I’m dancing in an unknown club, drinking unknown shots with unknown people anyway. I think I’m lost, but I don’t know. I don’t know anything at the moment. I don’t think I’ll know anything when I sober up, either. I’m not worried though, maybe I should be, but I’m not. This feeling of not knowing, not feeling is great. I don’t know why, it kind of feels like a release. But from what? I don’t know.
I do know you, though. I see your eyes across the club, they shine brighter than any other eyes, even when they’re broken on the inside. Even when you’re broken on the inside. Even when I break you, they still shine brighter than any star or any sun in the sky of my mind. How do I know you? How do I know I broke you? For Christ’s sake, I can’t even remember my own name but I remember you. Why?
I try to block you out, thinking about you feels wrong, I don’t like it. I don’t know why, though. I keep dancing, keep drinking, falling deeper into my drunken haze as each moment ticks by. I can’t help but notice you making your way down to the dance floor though. You don’t like dancing, why are you coming down here? How do I know that? I don’t know.
I feel your hand clasp my arm and I turn around sharply, almost falling on top of you, my balance thrown thanks to the unknown alcohol. I look into your eyes and they are broken, just like I saw before. They’re broken again. Did I do it this time? I hope not. I’d hate myself forever if I did that to you again. You’re too beautiful to break. Yet, even as I look at you, I want to break you. I want you to crumble, melt, fold, bend, collapse, rip, smash in my hands. You’re so weak, yet so strong. Strong enough to protect me, fight away all my demons, keep me safe from the clouds of insanity that seem to invade my mind more often than not now. How do I know this? I don’t know.
You’re dragging me out of the club, I don’t try to resist because I know that you’ll keep me safe, you’ll protect me. I don’t know how I know, I just do. Once out of the club you pull me further down the street. I still don’t know this street. Or this club. Or even my name, but I do recognise the jeans that you’re wearing. The ones that are slightly too tight, but fit perfectly. I always loved you in those jeans, they suite you so well. How do I know this? I don’t know.
We turn into a back alley. I can barely see anything until you turn around, your bright eyes still glittering in the dark. You lean against the grimy wall, light a cigarette and inhale. You eye me warily, looking tired and even a little pained. After exhaling you drop the cigarette to the ground and pull me closer by my unzipped jacket. I get a closer look at your eyes. They are so broken, more so than last time. Even more than the time before that, and I did do it. The way you look at me…so scared and yet loving. Wanting. Needing.
Before saying a word your lips reach mine and we’re kissing. No matter how cliché it sounds, I know I can feel fireworks explode as your lips envelope mine, our tongues moving together in a heated craze, hurrying to be reunited. I explore every nook of your mouth with my tongue, recognising every inch, yet still not even knowing your name. I feel hot tears on my face. Knowing that they aren’t mine I pull away, keeping my arms wrapped securely around your bony waist. You’ve lost weight. How do I know this? I don’t know.
“You, you were so rough this time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve come and found you earlier. I know you didn’t mean it. I love you so much. I’m sorry,” your words come out through sniffles and tears, an apology I’m doubtful I deserve. Your eyes fall down to my arms, wrapped around your waist. You can see the scars. The scars left from razor blades years ago, the ones left from razor blades weeks ago. The scars left from drug needles weeks ago, the ones left from drug needles less than an hour ago. “You’re still out of it aren’t you? You…you don’t know me. Do you?” You struggle slightly against my grip, your eyes wide with worry and a hint of fear. I loosen my grip but don’t let you go, afraid to loose you. You see this fear in my eyes and don’t struggle.
“I do…I know who you are. I just don’t know who I am. Or what I’m doing. Where I am. I don’t really know anything but you,” my words are choked out of my throat, pushing against the lump that had grown as my eyes begin to well with tears of my own. You wrap your arms around my neck and cry into my shoulder, this feels so routine. I know it isn’t the first time this has happened. Or even the second. Probably not the third or fourth either.
I’m sorry I’m so unreliable when you’re so perfect. You shouldn’t be with me, but I couldn’t ever tell you this out loud, for fear you would realise this yourself. I need you, and that’s why I beat you into the ground. It’s why I make you feel awful about yourself. So you’ll stay with me, love. So you won’t leave. I do it because I love you. I do. I really do. Do you know that?
You take my hand in yours and we begin walking slowly down more unknown streets, stopping only when I collapse to the ground, legs weak from unknown drugs and alcohol, or when I need to excuse myself to vomit. Every time I fall you help me up tenderly, inspecting my ripped jeans, checking that I’m not hurt or bleeding. You hold my hair when I vomit, whispering just the right soothing words and hold your water bottle ready for me to drink when I’m done. I suspect you knew where to find me and in what state I’d be, as you are perfectly prepared and seemingly practised at this walk of shame back to our apartment.
I do know you, though. I see your eyes across the club, they shine brighter than any other eyes, even when they’re broken on the inside. Even when you’re broken on the inside. Even when I break you, they still shine brighter than any star or any sun in the sky of my mind. How do I know you? How do I know I broke you? For Christ’s sake, I can’t even remember my own name but I remember you. Why?
I try to block you out, thinking about you feels wrong, I don’t like it. I don’t know why, though. I keep dancing, keep drinking, falling deeper into my drunken haze as each moment ticks by. I can’t help but notice you making your way down to the dance floor though. You don’t like dancing, why are you coming down here? How do I know that? I don’t know.
I feel your hand clasp my arm and I turn around sharply, almost falling on top of you, my balance thrown thanks to the unknown alcohol. I look into your eyes and they are broken, just like I saw before. They’re broken again. Did I do it this time? I hope not. I’d hate myself forever if I did that to you again. You’re too beautiful to break. Yet, even as I look at you, I want to break you. I want you to crumble, melt, fold, bend, collapse, rip, smash in my hands. You’re so weak, yet so strong. Strong enough to protect me, fight away all my demons, keep me safe from the clouds of insanity that seem to invade my mind more often than not now. How do I know this? I don’t know.
You’re dragging me out of the club, I don’t try to resist because I know that you’ll keep me safe, you’ll protect me. I don’t know how I know, I just do. Once out of the club you pull me further down the street. I still don’t know this street. Or this club. Or even my name, but I do recognise the jeans that you’re wearing. The ones that are slightly too tight, but fit perfectly. I always loved you in those jeans, they suite you so well. How do I know this? I don’t know.
We turn into a back alley. I can barely see anything until you turn around, your bright eyes still glittering in the dark. You lean against the grimy wall, light a cigarette and inhale. You eye me warily, looking tired and even a little pained. After exhaling you drop the cigarette to the ground and pull me closer by my unzipped jacket. I get a closer look at your eyes. They are so broken, more so than last time. Even more than the time before that, and I did do it. The way you look at me…so scared and yet loving. Wanting. Needing.
Before saying a word your lips reach mine and we’re kissing. No matter how cliché it sounds, I know I can feel fireworks explode as your lips envelope mine, our tongues moving together in a heated craze, hurrying to be reunited. I explore every nook of your mouth with my tongue, recognising every inch, yet still not even knowing your name. I feel hot tears on my face. Knowing that they aren’t mine I pull away, keeping my arms wrapped securely around your bony waist. You’ve lost weight. How do I know this? I don’t know.
“You, you were so rough this time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve come and found you earlier. I know you didn’t mean it. I love you so much. I’m sorry,” your words come out through sniffles and tears, an apology I’m doubtful I deserve. Your eyes fall down to my arms, wrapped around your waist. You can see the scars. The scars left from razor blades years ago, the ones left from razor blades weeks ago. The scars left from drug needles weeks ago, the ones left from drug needles less than an hour ago. “You’re still out of it aren’t you? You…you don’t know me. Do you?” You struggle slightly against my grip, your eyes wide with worry and a hint of fear. I loosen my grip but don’t let you go, afraid to loose you. You see this fear in my eyes and don’t struggle.
“I do…I know who you are. I just don’t know who I am. Or what I’m doing. Where I am. I don’t really know anything but you,” my words are choked out of my throat, pushing against the lump that had grown as my eyes begin to well with tears of my own. You wrap your arms around my neck and cry into my shoulder, this feels so routine. I know it isn’t the first time this has happened. Or even the second. Probably not the third or fourth either.
I’m sorry I’m so unreliable when you’re so perfect. You shouldn’t be with me, but I couldn’t ever tell you this out loud, for fear you would realise this yourself. I need you, and that’s why I beat you into the ground. It’s why I make you feel awful about yourself. So you’ll stay with me, love. So you won’t leave. I do it because I love you. I do. I really do. Do you know that?
You take my hand in yours and we begin walking slowly down more unknown streets, stopping only when I collapse to the ground, legs weak from unknown drugs and alcohol, or when I need to excuse myself to vomit. Every time I fall you help me up tenderly, inspecting my ripped jeans, checking that I’m not hurt or bleeding. You hold my hair when I vomit, whispering just the right soothing words and hold your water bottle ready for me to drink when I’m done. I suspect you knew where to find me and in what state I’d be, as you are perfectly prepared and seemingly practised at this walk of shame back to our apartment.