Choke hold

November 22, 2015 § Leave a comment

I only play songs on repeat. I find one and can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop. I want to be in that dress and with the cigarette I shouldn’t have had. Those romantic memories, the worst. I have tried to replay them in real time and it fails. Instead, I am a pile of curls and lost potentials, a pretzel body on the floor.

I watch that junkie hooker on Breaking Bad, Wendy. She looks hideous, and yet, that’s how I am, will be, becoming. When you decide you can’t be fixed, you are already a hideous ‘thing’ it doesn’t matter. You find that something that makes you numb. Loving it for the time is the best, the first love. I want to be happy, no I don’t. I want to be sad and beautiful and mascara down my face, never sleeping. No, base needs are not for me. Didn’t you hear? I am superhuman! No sleep, no hunger, no connection, no warmth, nothing, nothing, nothing.

Sitting on the curb, cold in my bones but I refuse to acknowledge it, such a stupid clingy bitch. That fucking cigarette, I am gone already so I won’t feel the ashes and the embers fall onto my knee, and I watch them burn, burn, burn.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Choke hold at the Bulimic Baker.

meta

%d bloggers like this: