happy violence.

misnomers.

contradictions.

euphemisms.

fucking-pathetic-isms.

yeah, maybe i have some fucked condition where my arms are always either on fire or as numb as my empathy.

yeah, maybe i live in a house where the only relevant dinner conversations vary between divorce and ambiguous cynicism.

yeah.

maybe sometimes i lie on my bedroom floor for hours.

but that’s not why i’ve run away.

that’s not why i’ve been AWOL for so long.

it isn’t because of sadness.

it isn’t because of self-loathing.

it isn’t even because the floor is comfortable as fuck.

it’s because

it’s because

i’m

apathetically

unconditionally

horribly

irrationally

inevitably

scared.

of what?

well,

maybe it’s because i happened to luck out

because i happened to write something that isn’t shit

scared that maybe it’s done.

i’ve hit top.

oh bottom!

i’ve hit you so much

i could call you a slut without even blinking.

but top?

fuck this is scary.

it’s scary being appreciated.

it’s scary having things expected of you.

it’s scary to not be useless.

fuck i must sound crazy spouting all of this

but i can’t help it.

i have words.

i do.

but me?

i’m just a person

just another guy

just human.

and i will admit to all of you

that yes!

I

AM

FUCKING

SCARED.