sick sick sick

I like the cold. It makes me feel alive.

When we were together on that floor, staring up at the swirling cigarette smoke we both knew there were really more than just two people there. We knew who the third person was, even thought you wouldn't bring him up. And I wouldn't bring him up because I'm just a wedge and anything you said can and will be used against you.

When you asked me why I didn't take my jacket, I said it was because I've got nothing to hide. You laughed. But the truth is the cold makes me alive and the thing is, cold comes and goes but will always eventually come back.

I'm alive when I'm with you too. Maybe because I shouldn't, maybe because you shouldn't. But I hate and love the fact that you make me alive as much as I hate and love touching you. I was angry when I met you, I am angry still, isn't that how the song goes? You said it's okay. But you don't know that it is. 

I was drinking that night. I did what I did with you because I shouldn't have, because I was told I can't. I can't connect with you, I can't do what you want me to do and be what you want me to be. At his expense or at my expense.

I don't make promises I can't keep, and I definitely won't trust in your promises, and that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I don't want to end up liking the way you make me feel alive, just so you could take it away. Because you're finicky, but what happens when you get what you want? I know what happens, you're not much different from all of them. You're all the same. You want to chase me because you can't have me. And I want you to stop chasing me because I want the choice of choosing you.

Does that make sense? In a Boris Vian-ish kinda way, it all made sense during those few cigarettes on that woolly rug. You weren't the vessel for my anger but you were the mirror. A gorgeous mirror, but the beauty is never in the mirror but in what it reflects. You see?

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