This morning the thunder and rain welcomed me from a torturously enjoyable dream about him; the one that never fades, even after so much time. The dream made me fizzle and burst with greedy joy but reality quickly took all that fantasy far away.
I dream of you when I’m drunk, and you’re tumbling in bed with another “her”,
I dream of you when my eyes are swollen and I’m drowning in cat fur.
I dream of either slaughtering you or fucking you, there often is no in between,
My inner yearnings are decidedly troubled long, since I decided to try and act mean.
There is a limit to my facade and how long I can act unaffected…
Neglected, dejected, disrespected, and boy what a hangover.
I dream of you while I’m awake and you torture me with good traits,
But there comes a time when I’ll need some new dreams,
Dreams where people dream of me,
Dreams where you aren’t yelling at me,
Dreams where I’m finally happy,
Dreams that will take me off Into the galaxy.
Though your voice still rings in my ears, after a night of beers and my gracious acting,
There is not a way to keep this nuclear reaction from reacting.
Combusting my soul into daggers of my battered and sharpened heart.
I’ll spear you with a table, with my knife, long before you realize I’m a warrior.
I dream of being so unsuspecting that the cops don’t bother asking,
I’m the girl mourning the most, for this disintegrated mountain of mine,
Little do they know I’m the psycho girl who dreamed it up the whole time.
"He cares for you like a daughter."
“I don’t know why he worries about you so much.”
“He’s doing it more than just out of obligation.”
My mind swims with the “we love you” ‘s in our texts this morning. I have a love hate relationship with his care and concern. Keeping me from my possible demise under that bridge last night may have been the most chivalrous act he’s ever done for me. After I beat the living shit out of myself he required that I stay. Upon a futon I slept with relative ease coming to terms with my own insanity.
I had to swallow my pride and thank him and apologize, biting my tongue against the possibilities of further stressing him out.
I know not where this journey of compassion will end, but I hope it’s never.
That episode of Adventure Time when Finn and Jake Hide in Marceline’s closet is one of my favorite episodes, especially when I’m a little bakey and gooey and giggly. It’s the best combination of hilarious as fuck!
We spent an entire day together, not that that’s something new. We went to the third day of ACL and despite you being on acid you still carried our foldy chairs. Plucked from Gods personal collection and spat into my world, we spent the day like boy and girl. Laughing at the endless amount of interesting people to be seen and sucked down copious amounts of weed. Planting our bottoms in front of the numerous stages we watched Grouplove, Toro Y Moi, Tame Impala and I even got you to stomach 4 songs by Neko Case. I bought you sweet tea and you brought me back beer, all the while being as gentlemanly as ever. Placing me in your shade, self sacrifice and shimmering shirtless skin. While your eyes floated out of your head and guided you to follow me all I could think about was that small bead of sweat in the middle of your chest that found refuge in the small tangle of hair at the bottom of your happy-trail. Sick as it is, while the bands were the main attraction you had my undivided attention.