I still miss her

When plans fall through and I am left with free time
my mind begins to wander and I realize
I miss her

This book

I awoke at 5am on white tile floor, probably unconscious for a minute or two, head on an open fridge,
enveloped by existential dread, only a beaten/bloodied/written all over copy of Infinite Jest to keep me company.

It lay heavily upside down, the spine threatening to break, but silently holding itself together, sprawled on the tiles adjacent

I fucking hate when books are upside down and open, is it so hard to treat them right? 

Can't you see they are fragile, that they won't last like this
that they can't just be made hole with tape, glue, and hope

I took satisfaction in knowing that I finally looked how I felt

A right cross from my body that had taken enough pain from my anxious mind
A left hook to bring the mania to an end, for a just a minute

I had reached the height of my masochism, breaking more promises to myself, unable to deny the pleasure and release I have found here that they say is sadistic

Finally alone, I had found intimacy, the kind that usually floats above me, fleeting, intangible

We had set boundaries, "I just wanna make out tonight, I hope that's cool" I said

"me too" was the response

Then I got fucked, it was over at 10, they stayed til 2 

Their hands on my body, anything but human 

The space between us, an abyss, 

Anywhere but here I thought, a constant refrain
It echoed through my still intact skull, anywhere but here

the cuddling is always the worst part

The next day started with enough cigarettes and coffee that I should have felt warm
Lyrics from a punk song felt stapled inside my head, reading "anxiety another gift from you to me" repeating to the point of nausea
Nothing changed,  I took the cigarettes from my dry mouth to scarred skin, and made art
using tobacco to draw a flower on my ankle, it looked fucking beautiful

Some days I sit alone and look at that stupid flower and remember how I felt then
The scars around it tell other stories
But they are from the same book
And I am not so silently holding myself together
Because there is a civilization to destroy, and a world to create

And my blood will no longer be visible, but it will still course with me
And my wounds will heal and the scars will become stories
And I refuse to ever lift this pen from the page
And I will forever be writing this story

happiest

Tonight I remembered/realized that she was happiest when we were sitting in bed playing cards.  If only...

There are people I have never let go
There are people I couldn't let go
I never let her go

Because of her I hate the internet, baseball, alcohol, oxycodone, and every song on the fucking radio
I have come to accept the irrational nature of my thoughts
I have stopped searching for reason in this
I still hold out hope, I refuse to be anything except for naive

In my mind her return is imminent
I await a phone call that more likely than not will never come
I dream of our lips pressed together, of an intimacy that was always fleeting
Of cold nights spent in warm embraces, shared action, shared love

In two months, it will be 1 year straight of thinking of her every day and every night
Just when I think she has gone, she remains
She is five minutes away, but it might as well be Mars

I still believe in her
I still believe in what exists between us
I have fell for another, but she has still yet to leave my mind

She is too deep inside to dig out
I accept her as part of me, as long as my blood continues to flow, and maybe even after.