Underdogs and Tidal Waves

Southside of Mellow
2007-04-02 21:49:04 (UTC)

Withdrawal

I could use a quart of speed right now.
I want to cloud my head as well though I've got too much
work at hand to do so.
I fucking ache so bad inside and I don't even know why.
I'm biting back everything inside of me that tells me to
crack because I don't want to ever have to say I cried over
this one.
Should've just completely objectified this one as a piece of
ass, another notch along my conquests, another one to simply
take what I want and discard to the wayside.
I should've never found myself comfortable in his arms. I
should've never listened to the things he said. I should've
just kept my mind where it was from the very beginning, the
sex, not the dialogue. Should've kept my mind bent on that
purely as it had been the night before, so cold
calculated, wanting nothing but to take whatever I needed,
bring him to his goddamned knees and waste him senseless in
every sense that I pleased. In my head, I kept myself oceans
away that day, but those words so open vulnerable in my
arms lured me back to shore. I should've stayed at sea,
keeping my body at bay, but my insides in the ocean, far
away from anyone to take a hold of. It's a strong
probability that this may be the way he percieves it and if
he does he doesn't realize damn kind of hook he's reeled in
me, pulling me ashore, left here to dry on the cold
hardened sands of the beach.

Though my face betrays no emotion, he doesn't realize how I
burn whenever I see him express elation at the sight of her,
sending her a fury of words attention. It maybe a tactic,
who the hell knows but it fucking slays me each time I
remember the things that he said that day with a smile to
spurn the knife into my back drag it through my spine.
The weed numbed me that day, but I had to force myself to
forget his name. I tell myself to forget the songs he played
me on my own guitar. He told me that he didn't want me to
get a heartattack I think to myself now why the fuck would
he even care, he doesn't. The games we play, the bullets we
throw, the grenades we gun in the place of our hearts, makes
me ache inside so hard bad. Just like he said, if we went
on this way, we'd hate eachother, and in the span of merely
a two weeks, at the sight of his smiling face, I want to
punch his ski-slope nose and watch it bleed.
Though I've got it, I feel like I can't compete. I don't
have the charm nor the grace, though my face exceeds. I lack
book smarts or respectable prospects.
Even when I try to throw up my own first strains of the
white flag, he still throws me into the cold war.
It's just like the song says, The Game of Who Needs Who the
Worst.
As the girls swivel their adoring eyes, I force a smile as,
pretending like his lips aren't familiar to mine and the
outline of his body is a stranger to mine, each day is a
pretense feigning unfamiliarity. My seeming lack of care is
an absolute and utter lie. Everytime he speaks of her
adoringly it cuts like a knife in me when the weed fades out
I'm left with human emotion. It's funny watching someone
play coy when they're really not like that. We're all
occupying a role, a character, a falsified space.
He tells me of the things he loves hates and I pretend not
to know them. I pretend that running amuck with the
attentions of other boys fills the voids on the weekends
when he can't be there. Empty embraces just relays to
pretending it's him. The truth is I don't want to be with
anyone else, I only do this to keep myself safe.

It aches something fierce inside when I see these couples
hold hands, graze eachother's faces affectionately, and
being so uncertain unable to procure such things, missing
it all like hell.

He reads the paper and his eyes trail by at me studying
blank sheets in a notebook, we sit in silence, could this be
the same boy tangled up in my arms, who would not shut the
fuck up to just close the space with?
Funny how things are.




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