wasted

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The idea of getting so fucked up at a party,
losing myself to who knows what that's in my cup.
It's such a bittersweet image,
poisoning myself for the sake of fun until I lose all morals, any fear, any anger,
instead Id let it all out.
I'd let out the confessions and the tears, I'd tell you everything,
every time I told you I hated you so you wouldn't figure it out, every time I had to put my head down because the sight of you made my face too hot, every time you got frustrated with me and all I could do was imagine that same frustration driving me into a pillow, a wall, maybe even a counter.
And maybe just maybe I'd keep my mouth shut but just kiss you long and hard down your neck so that all of those things, those hurtful, disgusting thoughts, could be said without a single word. And maybe you'd let me keep going, but I'm not drunk and were not at a party.
Just an idea.

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