Hit Me
The first draft of this was just curse words.
I’m taking a step back and looking at my life. The way the crashes have been so devastating that eventually, the fire from the wreckage was keeping me warm. How I leapt into love like a desperate promise, not caring about drowning or simply becoming water itself.
I didn’t know my partners, whether they were lovers or strangers. Every face I see in the street holds one hundred million secrets, and when I see them and get ready to open my mouth, I let God do my talking. They’re stunning. Ugly and Beautiful take the same shape sometimes.
Pour one out for the dudes who have deja vu. The dudes with the condoms in their wallets and the dudes who don’t remember the last time they used one. You know them too. They’re all the same.
It’s easier to be miserable and frothing with rage when you don’t remember being any other way. I throw like a virgin. But the rocks still struck, and I loved every minute of feeling like I had control. The best part of being insane is the escape from reality.
Burning alive has its downsides obviously. I can’t help but put my heart into everyone’s hands and watch on as they mishandle the chambers. How words are so fucking useless that silence feels like the only sensible form of expression.
So what have I learned? I’d like to avoid another car accident, survived by the jaws of life. I can’t keep diving into shallow pools of water. My knees are killing me. Today, I’ve found my couch to crash on. I found that comfort.
PS: If they wanted people to think they were nicer, they should have been nicer.