Pass

After hardly living through 1996, I‘ve learned to resent all the times I refused to listen to anyone with half a heart for trying to get me away from the wreck and mess I was making of myself. I was too busy wasting all my time flirting with this Persian girl I met one night in Seattle two years back to have any common sense left in my junk-sick mind.

For a while I thought she was beautiful, and that the warm womb-like feeling she gave when I let her in was all I needed. I’d even of died with her right then if it meant she’d stay my something safe.

I was young and dumber then. But more than anything, I was a nervous spastic. If anything had the chance to get too comfortable, I’d self destruct and blow up. She was my medicine. After I spent time with her, I’d become a much more comfortable person, and everyone liked me like that instead of the demented control freak I made myself to be. I let them breathe without screaming they're doing it wrong for once in my life.

What a beautiful decay that was. 1996 was directed by a girl with a golden filled needle. I could have sworn that she really loved me, but I found out soon enough she was trying to kill me. (And not that anyone needs to know, but she did for a few hours that year.)

The days all felt the same and I couldn’t remember for the life of me if one had passed, or it was still the same one. I didn’t even know 1997 came till well into February. I’d been spending so much time with my Persian girl that I started to get the feeling the next time the front door would pry open and my body would emerge would be when it was strapped down on a stretcher.

I opened the door and walked outside whenever I got that feeling as a ‘fuck you’ to my Persian girl still lingering in my veins. Those ‘outings’ would only last moments though. I’d lurk around my yard like a disease until I became the sideshow act of the neighborhood. After that was established, I’d run back inside because hearing their snide remarks to one another actually made me realize they were right.

I was a mad man with too much pride tacked up and too much ego to tear down. I wasn’t sick in my mind. I was just flirting with the Persian girl; I could leave her whenever I wanted. So I kicked her out right then and there just to prove I could leave her.

Till an hour later when my fingers were aching for her touch and my guts were ready to be the next thing I threw up. I ripped through my broken needles and shattered remnants of humanity, and took a straight shot to the curb where I left her. This became a sick little pattern for weeks, except each time I’d hold out for just a few minutes longer. I still had some respect left if I didn’t run back to her as soon as I couldn’t feel her linger in me.

When I degraded her to the curb, I always thought it’d be the last time… but the unrestrained grip on time I had was even more convoluted and dragged me half to death every single day till I let her back in me. I was so humiliated to see her again.

In 1998, she didn’t wait around for me to come back and left for someone who would love her like I used to. I was so sick for weeks after that, but I knew if I ever saw her again, we’d be living back in 1996. So this was the end.