There’s a girl asleep on my bed. I feel closer to her than I’ve felt to anyone in the past 2 years. She’s the closest thing to perfect I’ve seen in recent history.
I might be a junkie at heart. And she might use from time to time too, but at least she can see me through the drug haze. More clearly than I can, at least.
You forgot the part where they taught me to hate, forgive, then pretend someone never existed except in those rare moments of respite alone at night where you wonder what could, and would have been.
Its because for 10 minutes it staves off the various other desires. The loneliness, the desolation of so many wrongs and so few rights… Those bitter drags of a cigarette are control. A conscious choice to cave to an addiction. Some respite for oneself. It might be slowly killing me, but then again… So is the gradual progression of the clock.