Black Holes, White Lines

I just ended it with my coke-fueled boyfriend. I am sad. Sad is hard. Because sad is in fact, really, really sad sometimes. Sick sad. Hard-achey-make-thoughts-stop sad. The sad that takes over my sleep and wakes me up and shakes me and makes me want to smoke cigarettes and fuck whiskey.

He is a beauty. A real one-of-kind. He has seen so much in life, he radiates a certain manliness from his history. It's crushingly beautiful at times. I always go out with "guys." This guy is a man. And its different. It feels different, being in the presence of a man.

And the sirens scream thru my window now and I want to scream with them. Its frustrating to taste what you want and know its not yours, nor should it be, steeped in such unhealthiness. I can feel the pull of the sickness, and its tempting and terribly sexy. Like the devil is tempting and sexy. People on drugs, they are like the devil. And I've always had a certain fondness for the devil. Who doesn't, really?

Our last night together was full of me feeling ignored, betrayed, steamrolled, obliterated, obfuscated - nothing princess-like, I can assure you. I managed to see thru the haze of drugs for a moment and grab his face and say "I know there's someone else underneath this." But human kindness was gone and I was alone.

So I love you,
amidst this orgy wasteland of burnt toast friends
amidst this scene of blood-tinged decay
amidst this scene of nothingness that feels like everything right now - I am your comrade, I'm your love and I am still here...

Or at least my love will be. Because I, myself, can no longer stay - unless I want to lick the filthy floors of Hell for eternity. Unless I enjoy a neverending mindfuck of lies and shabby treatment. I will save myself. I'll try to value myself the way I value you - the you underneath the white dust and frozen fear.

So its over for now. And supposedly, that's a good thing. Everyone will say, that's a good thing, Beth. But they won't know. They won't know that in place of a sick man, I have a sick me to contend with - and she's certainly not a pretty sight. I have a sick me and a cold body of emptiness and loneliness to kiss at night and no, I don't give a rat's ass that "somebody better will come along." Because I wanted him and I'm not afraid of the dark. But fortunately, I suppose, my survival will have to come first.



“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.” - Edgar Allan Poe