Writing On The Wall

I found comfort close to home. You sat there there, frigid and still but I was drawn to you anyway. I always insisted on pursuing what I shouldn’t, especially the things I was warned about. Hard head, hard life. I had always voiced a disdain for you too. I had always vowed never to let you in, I was proud about how I knew of your past. I hated how many men I knew were so fond of you, I didn’t see the purpose in you. I thought it was in their heads, figments of yearning imaginations. I’ve seen you take these men and bring back shells. Empty, exhausted, shells you’d only recognize if you looked long enough to see that old twinkle, now usually absent from their eyes, return for a split second. Fragmented souls trying to step backward into time, to undo what you’ve done to them. To untie those deceptive knots that you used to strangle them slowly. I hated how before they met you, they resembled me, and the way I was before I met you. You made me hate the parts of myself that rested at my core that I feared. Yet you accepted me as I was. A young, anxious, confused and eager pile of energy waiting to be shifted. The more of you that I feel within me, the more I feel like myself. I don’t care if that makes any sense, nothing good ever really does. You turn clutter into open, blank, undisturbed space so I appreciate that knowing full and well what awaits me.

Waste is a terrible thing to mind.

Closure is a luxury not afforded to most.

You can do nearly anything you want to me.
I’ll let it pass.

Do not lie to me.
Never lie to me, ever.

I can’t let that pass.

Put me in the back of the cab at 1 A.M. in the LES in 1995. Half asleep with my head on my mother’s lap, and my drowsy eyed older sister taking in how the city managed to skip yet another night of sleep. There was true warmth. There was a feeling of completion. There was pure satisfaction. The same things I chase with any bottle I can get my hands on. With any vice that’ll invite me in without digging into my fears, and worries. Put me back there because I never asked for more. I never said it was broken, so I don’t know why the world felt the need to fix it. Put me back because it isn’t fair that I have to chase something I tried to hard to keep up with but couldn’t. Put me back in that cab on the Prospect Expressway at almost 1:30 in the morning, in a sleep that will set the peak mark for comfort in my life, drooling in mother’s lap, with my sister tucked under her arm on the opposite side. All I ask is that the driver take the scenic route.

I was fucking addicted. Same as the smack slaves persuading you for that last dollar to go find the beauty in the universe for a short period of time when you’re allowed to search. Sometimes we lie to ourself about how beautiful those findings are. Sometimes we haven’t seen enough beauty to judge it properly. I always assumed I’d know know when I found that beauty. Yeah, THAT beauty. The one that you wonder about before you step your foot forth. The one that puts the battery in your back when you plead for that dollar like it holds life’s answers. For all anyone knows, it might. I used to forget to sleep. I forgot to eat. I forgot how to fucking breathe. It stopped my heart slowly yet with the force of a train barreling through dead air. I was laid out with palms staring into the sky having taken in my fair share of the universe. Way more than my fair share.

Anonymous asked: 57

Just trying to figure out the universe.

Anonymous asked: 9

My best first date was…nah. We won’t speak on that.