Stumbleine

And in the end, it all comes down to who can lie and convince himself that everything is still about willingness the longest. A game of sorts of keeping the demons of reality on the outside of the withered mental walls. Shunning any kind of truth. It turns out that sometimes its just easier to play pretend and smile and cry on all the right cues, telling everyone what they want to hear, instead of letting the taunting pain run its course as something like a disease. Every TV show is nothing more than staged emotions and scripted plot twists. Well there are cameras everywhere now, so the distinction between TV life and real life is smears of gray from what used to be black and white.

I think after all this time, you’ve finally caught on to what’s been happening. The big picture came together in a pretty mess of paper mache and soggy drippings to create something distorted of the original. That since the beginning, I’ve been letting you down and hurting you. Even after you loved me. But it’s not about love anymore; I’ve got a head full of sorrow and you’ve got a Hollywood heart. It was real at some point toward the introduction, but the make up smeared away and theatrics wore off and I became a monster. Now all I can do is wish away the dysfunctional paper feelings, and feel sorry for myself. I singlehandedly ruined our last shot at making thinks work.

We know our relationship is long over and well dead. I’ve been beating myself up over it, and you’ve been crying when I’m off doing fuck whatever. No one wants to be the ultimate of two evils and bring up the last real conversation we need to have. To be the bad guy that becomes another notch in the bed post of easy lays and quick targets. It’s all about who gets the responsibility of playing the over dramatic abandoned lover. The lead role that conjures up the tears of anyone listening in on the sob story of a failed last attempt.

But secretly, that wont happen. It’ll be a conversation of paper words in a Mellon Collie setting. After we bid out final bittersweet goodbyes, that will be the end. No lose ends to mope around about, no closure to kill yourself over, and we’ll go our separate ways. After practically begging for an ending to the vicious slave to the grind routine, there wouldn’t be any tears or remorseful words to be had. Just a burden finally relieved and two emotionally drained victims looking for a new body to sink deep in to.

The juke box fuck up and the aspiring super queen. Only now, the ‘and’ will represent two self willed beings instead of a dying duo.

Everyone knew that we would end up being the miserable lovers who couldn’t figure out how to call the shots or call it quits, but we didn’t listen. After trying so many ways and times to make it work and refusing to admit that the outcome was always irresponsible wasted effort, we were following the oh-so predictable lines and scene settings.

“Let’s go out today,” I suggest in a pathetic attempt to let us forget about all the tension for a few mind-numbing hours. The more friends and strangers we surrounded ourselves with on these rare ventures out of the Misery Palace, we could either convince them for one more night that we’re still happy back like a year ago, or at least we could pretend it’s like another night before we got ourselves into this kind of mess in the first place. “I heard Wes is back in town. We’ll rally up the old crew one last time and see a movie or go bum around the bowling alley like old times.” What I’m really wishing is we could just have one last night as high school buddies being stupid together.

You approach me delicately, wrapping those familiar arms around my body and trapping me in an embrace. Sincere in a longing for the touch of aching flesh. “Sure,” you shoot back in a mildly interested mumble.

And that’s what happened. We spent all night being babbling idiots with our friends from 3 years ago. We were all over each other again, kissing and touching. Laughing and straddling. Playing on all the right cues with a genuine revival of something like love, mockery, thrown into the dopamine. Then the hours started going from high numbers to low numbers again, and we all begrudgingly went home. You hung off of me like a groupie, begging me to spend one last night in your bed this one last time. The sex would be kinky and we could come closer again. I couldn’t refuse.

For all you knew I hadn’t been touched in months. We’d just kind of started avoiding any kind of romantic touch with one another and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’d found a cheap fuck and easy lay in the form of a former friend we once loved. And that was something you couldn’t know. Especially when you’ve had every moment of your life as us accounted for as an alibi. You’d been faithful even when us became a taxidermy of a convoluted story of what looked like a relationship. I had a dirty little secret I’d gotten good at keeping all to myself.

None of my distasteful whereabouts mattered now though. Tonight was about me feeling deep inside you and hearing you scream for me to go harder. Your nails digging into my back, and my hands between your thighs. Letting you play out your fantasy of pounding into my body, and amid messy thrusting to feel my face against yours. My lips in the crook of your neck leaving butterfly contact and bruises as a signature that signed you over to me. To feel you grind your hips into mine and moan my name. Be consumed by all the sins we’re committing and get lost in the chemical chaos in my head. Endorphins and pleasure. Thrusting and grinding.

And after we’re a collapsed mess of flesh and fluids on the bed sheets, you hold on to me and whimper at my every movement. I’m trapped by your delicate frame blanketing my body. With your head on my chest, you feel me stealing shallow breaths. You hear my shaky breathing. “We can love each other again,” You mutter, “and it’ll work this time,”.

After spending all this time realizing I’ve had you when I went astray and been chasing you at all the wrong moments, the words I once longed to hear honestly escape your lips mean nothing anymore. I was done chasing you finally, and I don’t want you anymore. In the morning, I’ll finally take on the role of the ultimate evil.

Or maybe the day after that.