Status: A VERY slow work in progress
Stay
Stay
My dreams about you aren't what they used to be, as seldom as they come these nights as I lay entangled with you. I am not sure whether it's the drugs that have clouded my visions of you, or the simple fact that we are no longer in the same world; we've come, as I reluctantly admit, to drift apart like icebergs.
The heroin-laced confessions I whispered on your couch during our late adolescence followed my love for you into what I now call my "violent delights." A quiet shudder approaches me when I feel your hands on my five o'clock shadow and your breath in the crook of my neck. These things that used to grip at my heart how wring it dry.
I don't love you anymore, but I can't bear to break your heart, so I stay.
In the beginning things were good, better than anything had ever been. We were the adamant college drop outs searching for sunshine, and nothing could stop us from taking off in our beat up Volkswagen Camper. I think I lost you somewhere in one of those adventures. It was somewhere between our trip to San Francisco to "find a better life," and the time we searched the local phone booths for change because we were that desperate to get hammered.
I remember you once pushed me away after our first blast after three months of being clean, when I told you I wanted to make love to you. I don't know if it was the stupor you were in or the fact you were more in love with the heroin than with me. Now that I look back, I realize that you only wanted to get fucked.
I never asked you that again. Instead, I used dirty lines and pretended to like it when you looked trashy for me because you thought it was sexy. But you're so hideous now, it's almost violent how angry I become when I have to look at you. You used to be so beautiful, and then you fell into the gutter of New Jersey and stood up with heroin in your veins and insomnia in your irises.
What kills me the most is that I was the one who did all of this to you. I will never forgive myself for injecting your first hit, for polluting those beautiful rivers in your arms with my hate-filled harpoon. I should never have accepted a dirty needle. I should never have accepted a needle at all. I should have never taken your virginity or introduced you to the Bohemian lifestyle. I should have never made you mine. I should have never made you a coward.
I hate the life we're living in, and I don't know how to get out of it. I want to drown in the ocean. I want the foil in my pocket to weigh me down to the bottom of the sea. I want to feel the water settle into my bones just like heroin into every uneasy fiber of my being.
But I stay.
The heroin-laced confessions I whispered on your couch during our late adolescence followed my love for you into what I now call my "violent delights." A quiet shudder approaches me when I feel your hands on my five o'clock shadow and your breath in the crook of my neck. These things that used to grip at my heart how wring it dry.
I don't love you anymore, but I can't bear to break your heart, so I stay.
In the beginning things were good, better than anything had ever been. We were the adamant college drop outs searching for sunshine, and nothing could stop us from taking off in our beat up Volkswagen Camper. I think I lost you somewhere in one of those adventures. It was somewhere between our trip to San Francisco to "find a better life," and the time we searched the local phone booths for change because we were that desperate to get hammered.
I remember you once pushed me away after our first blast after three months of being clean, when I told you I wanted to make love to you. I don't know if it was the stupor you were in or the fact you were more in love with the heroin than with me. Now that I look back, I realize that you only wanted to get fucked.
I never asked you that again. Instead, I used dirty lines and pretended to like it when you looked trashy for me because you thought it was sexy. But you're so hideous now, it's almost violent how angry I become when I have to look at you. You used to be so beautiful, and then you fell into the gutter of New Jersey and stood up with heroin in your veins and insomnia in your irises.
What kills me the most is that I was the one who did all of this to you. I will never forgive myself for injecting your first hit, for polluting those beautiful rivers in your arms with my hate-filled harpoon. I should never have accepted a dirty needle. I should never have accepted a needle at all. I should have never taken your virginity or introduced you to the Bohemian lifestyle. I should have never made you mine. I should have never made you a coward.
I hate the life we're living in, and I don't know how to get out of it. I want to drown in the ocean. I want the foil in my pocket to weigh me down to the bottom of the sea. I want to feel the water settle into my bones just like heroin into every uneasy fiber of my being.
But I stay.