Back in the days when I slept

with an 80 proof bottle on the left side of my bed,

the world was blurry, uncertain, with strange emotions

I barely knew what to do with.

I saw him tearing up over a ghost I dreamt about,

I saw her tearing up as I held her face between my hands,

so I helped them, between clean shot after shot,

they never knew about from how well-hid it all was,

as I snuck in the bathroom and punched all of its walls

over and over,

and over again,

until my knuckles were bruised,

the hidden bottle was gone,

and my spirit was torn

with the memories

of all those nights

I completely

forgot.

You knew you had me in your grasp. You knew I was right in the palm of your hand, you had me right where you wanted me. You tore a hole in me but I was too delighted by your touch to push you away. You were always hurting me but my brain was the only one that recognized it.

Pick me up, take me away, throw me back on the streets just as long as you come back when you need me. Pathetic, that's what it is. Me needing you and you loving it. I'd never admit it, not to myself or you, that if you had my blood on your hands I'd wash them for you. Ignorance is bliss, ignorance is safety. When you hold me in your arms and I feel the cold metal slicing my back I will only hold you and cry. I don't love the pain, I don't love the fights and long nights. I love you. I love the look it you eyes when you get excited, how you can't stop talking when you're embarrassed, I love every part of you that you try to cover up.

But I hate that I love you. If I love you, then how am I supposed to love myself? Being with you is killing me, my only request is that you do it slowly. My only wish is that I can drown in your eyes one last time before closing mine forever.

I hate you! I hate you so much, but I love you double that. I have o one but myself to blame for it.

Last week; I was in the imagined interior of some East Village bar -- a small brick building with a pride flag hanging cheerfully on the front. I've never been there. My ex slid off her barstool to meet me halfway. I don't remember what we said, but she cried, her red hair falling around her pale cheeks with a certain quiet desperation. I woke up with a wet face.