There’s blood running down your thigh and my hands can’t catch it fast enough for them to heal and you ask

Do you want to kiss me? A distraction from reality. Isn’t that all your life has become? A distraction from reality?

And I say of course I do. And a half hour later there I am. Doing everything I said I wouldn’t do again. But It’s not that, that kills me. It’s all of this. All of you. The pain you’re putting yourself through. The pain that you put me through, just to be in love with someone else. Some girl you swore you didn’t like. Look how well I know you. Look how well I knew what was going on, before you even did.

I’m God, his worst enemy. Because I can call it before he can.

And there you are. Sitting at the bar. Where you’ve been for almost over a month. Has it been that long already? It still feels like yesterday for me, the long drive home. Thinking about perfection as your hand glided into mine from the passenger seat.

But that’s behind us now. Move on, I tell myself, she’s in love with someone new already. She’s into the next one. You were just for a couple months. You didn’t fit the mold of what she wanted to hold onto. But this other girl, does.

Drink to sleep. Drink to feel. Call me at 3 am and I will answer because I’m the only one that fucking cares anymore.

I can’t sleep with my phone on silent. I can’t even sleep with it on vibrate anymore. Everything. For you. And you don’t even know. It wasn’t enough. And it never will be. And I guess that’s the shit I get stirred up in my head while I’m laying here for a few days. Replaying everything over and over, reminding myself of why I’m even alive right now.

And my hand slides into her pants, disregarding that I’m not the one she wants. And she comes on my hand and we roll over and the kissing stops almost immediately but not in my head. Because in my head, it lasts forever and the taste of her lips, of her skin, the smell of her neck pressed into my face.

And there’s the blood again, spraying all over the carpet. Dripping down the walls and she screams out, someone, please. And no one answers. No one can hear her now. Does anyone even care, she wonders. But with a shot in between her fingers, and the glazed over look in her eye Monday through Sunday, all eyes on her.

Who are they?

They’re nothing. They’re killing you and you don’t even know it. They’re going to be the death of you, see that light?