I would write a hate song if I could, hiss like an angry teapot and weave a tale of decay.
But I really don’t know how to deal with this mess.
I don’t know how to handle this headache, this constant flitting between fury and despair.
You may think its okay, shrug nonchalantly, smile indulgently, or maybe you are an adolescent, a miserable one.
I don’t know. I am not used to heartbreaks.
I miss you, your familiarity, your smell, your stupidity. I miss talking to you, fighting with you.
I knew I could come back home to you, you were a constant in this turbulence.
Now, I swallow gum accidentally, worry about dying from it and I don’t know whom to share it with.
How did it all come apart?
All arguments in my head come undone piece by piece. There’s so much to think of, so many wounds to lick, I don’t know where to begin.
I am trying to run away, savouring the anger, strangers, incessant revelry, and conversations with heart sick sisters.
Once alone, there’s only an acid aftertaste, and an acute sense of abandonment.
