brittanyalyse
desire like despair
feet glued where yours
once rested, smooth.
Despair makes me a magnet, attracted only to the space between your arms, to your fading tracks, to your disappearing thoughts. Our connection faded out but I keep waiting on this end of the line.
-Are you tempted by me?
-Fairly often.
-Because of my fiery hair?
-Sometimes.
-Because of my fierce eyes?
-Occasionally.
-What about the other times?
-Because of your want to be desired.
Today I feel forgotten. Also like I'm swimming through a pit of vague self pity. You know. All that jazz. I hate feeling forgotten. Or unwanted. I think about it and it turns me into the this ugly, self-absorbed, unhappy person. Gross.
I'm a great heckler. One of the best I know. Also I'm conceited. And usually drunk. I'm at my best heckling when I'm drunk. Especially if I'm heckling at a high school event to raise awareness about the awful effects of drugs and alcohol.
Your mind reads like a wasteland. All your thoughts, the muggy air sticking to my burnt skin. I can't breathe in all this space.
The day I was born my daddy held me loosely in his arms while I pointed one sassy finger in his face, letting him know I was the one in control and he better do as I say. My mama says things haven't changed since and, you know, I don't think they have either.