Everything in its right place
◊ Three fucking goddamn a.m.
This is when you know when your friends are. The bars are closed and it starts coming down to priorities.
I am crying on my own goddamn fucking knee because I haven't got a single fucking shoulder other than my own to cry on, and I can cry all over myself quite fucking efficiently by now, thank you, without help.
All I wanted. I wanted to cry myself to fucking sleep. That's all. Cry myself to sleep and have someone make sure I'm OK while I do it. Which I wouldn't fucking be, if I were crying myself into unconsciousness, but I would at least like someone to go through that awkwardness and worry and hopelessness for me, thank you very fucking much, instead of expecting flaky, scared, unprepared me to come through somehow.
And I can't find my fucking copy of Tom Waits' Small Change. In my drunken, tired, very much hurting state, all I could locate is my Radiohead CDs, so it is Thom Yorke I am crying myself to sleep on tonight.
Fuck.
I gotta be there when everyone else is in a million fucking pieces, but when I am collapsing and all I want out of life is to slip off when nobody's noticing and come back as a wild animal with infinite space and only a short, brutal, perfect forgettable life ... that's when I have to send people on their fucking way and cry myself to goddamn fucking sleep again.
Thank you, everyone, for the temporary, half-assed, dutiful fucking reprieve I get.
You bastards.
Fuck strength. Fuck respect. Fuck qualification. I wish I could trade in my questionable ethics and free will and goddamn fucking dignity for sleep and peace and fucking weakness.
I am very, very tired of being a saint.
Mostly because I am seriously, dangerously, probably contagiously evil.
But you? Fuck you all. The only person I feel sorry for is me.
Which is a patent fucking lie.
The scariest thing I've run into all year is, very easily, a long cold stairwell with nobody at the top.
Fuck. I could blame all this on being drunk, but I'm pretty fucking sure that the only thing the alcohol is doing is letting me cry instead of choke. I could light a cigarette on my own need right now.
Please. Take this away. Let it be morning and an evil fucking hangover and a lifetime's worth of bad memories.
Please.