It somehow feels indifferent to be reacquainted with you.
Congratulations for making it past 27. And to think, you had prepped a letter at 24. You still have it even. There’s something wrong with your wiring, and there always has been. And there always will be. You will never separate yourself from yourself. So swallow down that dram at 120 beats per minute. You might just get lucky and short circuit. It’s what you’ve always wanted. And you’ve just experienced deja vu, so this is in fact your intended path.
You used to crawl into the very closet of the bedroom you now inhabit when you were a little girl. You would lock yourself in there in the complete darkness and try to imagine what the void would feel like. Hope of nothingness. You feel such intense lows and highs in life, that you’d be fine with the void for all of eternity. You used to soak up your river of tears by way of your enormous, bright green dragon and you’d whisper to him those delicate worries of your life. He’d stare back at you with his black plastic eyes, and all he could ever offer you was something to hold tight. Always wise beyond your years, you had a deep understanding of life, and you knew life was meaningless without purpose. As of now, you serve no purpose but to be perceived as a faulty project to be serviced, and you’ve always known that.
The shallow whims of men has your heart constantly under attack, and you just don’t have enough left to function normally. You’ve had that pink Halloween candy tonight, and now it’s time to turn over. Disconnect slowly… little by little… from all things, and see yourself empty.
Why is it so hard for you to retain a man’s attention? You go about your day, minding your own business, only to be reeled in and released back. Please just stop. There is so little left of you. You are dead eyes and a lovely smile to those monsters of reality. And they can realize no more of you because there’s nothing left to say. See yourself within the mirror, and see yourself struck to stone.