Status: Working on it.
We All Fall Down
A short scene of desperation
I mean, if I want to light a cigarette I will right now.
That's all I can tell myself. I put another one in my mouth and light it. I'm going very hard and I can feel the euphoria reverberating up and down my spine. My fingers move fruitlessly, looking for something to do.
I smile, because I know I'm fucked. It's my second day spent wake and alert and productive. My room was clean, my fingernails cleaned to a perfection and my files on me computer organized to a gross systematic detail.
I got on Facebook and looked Veronica up, looking over her pictures. I went to open a message box with her, and I typed "I love you."
Love is hell. Absolute hell. Every waking minute I could spend thinking of her. Even, there was a point, drinking would only strengthen my thoughts for her. My feelings.
My love.
I would close my eyes, my head and my senses reeling, and think of speaking to her. I would imagine I was. We would make love or argue or fight or fuck or something. I had our house's color picked out, the way the bushed would be trimmed in the front of the house, the way our kids would torment us.
every thought of her was horrible yet enticing. All of it was love.
Fuck love.
I took another Adderall and closed my eyes.
I closed the message box without sending the message.
That's all I can tell myself. I put another one in my mouth and light it. I'm going very hard and I can feel the euphoria reverberating up and down my spine. My fingers move fruitlessly, looking for something to do.
I smile, because I know I'm fucked. It's my second day spent wake and alert and productive. My room was clean, my fingernails cleaned to a perfection and my files on me computer organized to a gross systematic detail.
I got on Facebook and looked Veronica up, looking over her pictures. I went to open a message box with her, and I typed "I love you."
Love is hell. Absolute hell. Every waking minute I could spend thinking of her. Even, there was a point, drinking would only strengthen my thoughts for her. My feelings.
My love.
I would close my eyes, my head and my senses reeling, and think of speaking to her. I would imagine I was. We would make love or argue or fight or fuck or something. I had our house's color picked out, the way the bushed would be trimmed in the front of the house, the way our kids would torment us.
every thought of her was horrible yet enticing. All of it was love.
Fuck love.
I took another Adderall and closed my eyes.
I closed the message box without sending the message.