Sleeping alone for the first time in over two years, isn’t that bad, it’s the third night.
The first night, you think, sweet, I can spread out, roll around hog the covers, fuckin eh, not too shabby.
Second night, you’re telling yourself it’s cool and you almost believe it.
Third night, third night man, that’s when you realize, when you are forced to see it as it IS, they ain’t sleepin here no more
And that, that my friends, that fucking SUCKS
Flashflood mindwave drowning, memories of drowning in skin now drowning in memories of drowning in bottles drowning in a shallow pool with no lifeguards, talking to people on facebook chat who you barely remember at two in the morning drowning in online porn in poems and novels and anxiety
Suddenly the urge to look at the bed as if they’re just being really quite right now, or if you’ve got little games you used to play with each other, little memes, you suddenly need to say one, and that shared joy, as minute as it is, is drowned in the silence of their absence.
So I take another shot, yell bikepath in my head, and waking dream of sleeping dreams. How nice it would be to lose consciousness, but I was scared of the liquor store today, so all I have is last dregs on what used to be half a mickey leftover rye. And now knowing definitely what I hoped wouldn’t be, but always clearly an inevitability, out of liquor, not drunk enough to pass out, and soon the thirst will be terrible strong, and no one to hide in, to hide with.
No one, with.
That word horrifying(,) with it’s power.
With the power vested in me, with this bottle, with my friends, with my family, with my loves, and loved, with those around, never alone with, with with, but I didn’t and don’t have the wherewithal to keep them all with me where I’m going, looks like where I go I go alone. Without.
Don’t pity me, I ain’t sad about it, not really, I think.