This is a Nothing Place

You don’t have to stay forever.
I know forever is a long time.
But if you say that you’re staying
F o r e v e r
Then I expect forever. 

Wait, let me save you the trouble-

Please let me do this, just this:

No.  

You always just disappear. How is that fair to me?

Hate me.

It’s kind of alarming (I mean, I guess that’s the word for it) that I can be so nonchalantly bitchy towards guys that I can tell are just a bunch of bullshitters. Like, oh, no, sure, right. You’re talking to me and saying you’d date me within a day of talking to me, a day in which you have not asked any questions about me except for my name, and you really mean that you’d date me, right? To be with me? Because I’m cute and “so amazing.” Fucking please. I am not stupid. I see through your shit, you transparent idiot. 

I’m feeling a little sad, a little tired, a little complacent
Crawl under my sheets and count ‘til ten, 
Please forgive me for the way I dread
The sun’s arrival 
Time to look forward to the day’s end.

Please, be more condescending to me and make me feel like the world’s biggest whore just because I like attention. So fucking what? What harm is that to anyone? Is it to make myself feel better? Maybe, but probably not. Who doesn’t like being complimented and admired? I like it. So shut up. 

Seriously, what sort of bullshit is that? Being talked to like I’m doing everything wrong, please continue? No.

Every time I talk to this kid, he makes me want to chop off the balls he has to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.  

I can’t help but believe that it’s me that there’s something wrong with. When it’s so easy for countless people to just up and leave me behind, drop contact with me, like it was nothing off their backs. How could I believe otherwise? There’s no explanation, not even a farewell. I sit here and let the conversations echo throughout the empty part of me that grows everyday that passes where we don’t speak. And every time it happens, I think to myself, “Well, you should have known. How could you be so stupid as to believe things would be different this time?” And then I metaphorically hit myself in the back of the head, which is equivalent to just letting the bad thoughts eat away at my screaming mind. I’m melting into everyday life and the days are blurring together, like when you take a picture but your hand shakes or you move the camera too fast, but it’s constant. 

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It really makes you wonder how much you must really mean to all the people you know currently when so many people have just walked out of your life without an explanation, without leaving any trace of anything. It’s always abrupt, always unexpected. It just happens. And most of the time they never come back, no matter how long you wait. Sometimes they never even meant that much to you to begin with, but they mean more to you the more you think about them, the longer they take to come back, the more you wonder what went wrong. 

These are the things I think about the most when I’m laying in bed, throwing the covers around and staring into the blackness of my room as I try to make out little shapes around my room that are barely visible. Anything to keep my mind off these people. But to no avail, my mind wraps itself around each person and the conversations and memories that I have had with them. Most of the time, I feel a stinging sadness and lingering feeling of betrayal rooted in my core. Other times my hands curls into fists of anger, confusion, bitterness. 

Every night like this ends the same no matter how I feel: tears.  

If you don’t want to talk to me, that is fucking fine. But don’t expect me to accept your attempts to talk to me again in the future. If I do talk to you again, you better know that you will be walking on thin ice from that moment forward. At any moment I can throw a rock and shatter the ice beneath your feet and watch you drown, with a fucking smile. 

I need to pour out my soul into someone who will collect every drop. I need to scream at someone who will scream back or, at the least, with me. I need something different, someone different. My heart is tearing itself apart. There’s a sort of emptiness within me that continues to nag but I don’t know what to fill it with. 

This inexpressible feeling keeps tightening its noose around my neck and every time I try to loosen it, it holds on twice as firmly. 

Can you love me for the way I hold my coffee mug?

Can you love me enough to stop when I ask you to stop? 

Your sister licked my notebook during lunch my senior year of high school.

And you look like the girl version of her.

You both suck, get the fuck out of here.  

Everything is funny the first time you hear it. Why do you think kids laugh so much? The first time they hear a play on words or the first time they connect something that makes a joke, they laugh. But adults stop laughing after a while. Things get less funny, things become more monotonous and everything becomes the same. Adult jokes have to be more complicated. And eventually, the jokes become some serious thinking. Like, why DOES the chicken cross the road? Is it indifferent to life like Marla Singer in Fight Club? Or many people will point out the fact that it’s just a fucking chicken and it doesn’t know what the fuck it’s doing, I mean for Christ’s sake it’s a fucking chicken, right? 

Then there are people who grow up still remaining kids. They aren’t so serious. Life doesn’t suck every bit of joy out of them. And most of us tickle the line between child and adult. Things are still funny, but deep thinking still snags us by the throat and holds us down until we pry each finger off of our neck to breathe again.  

I’m on a self-destructive path to nowhere.