I saw you on Sunday. For last time, I think.
I met you again where we used to be crystallized in this hourglass on sunlight and sand that I know is eternity. Los Angeles looks like that to me. But you ruined it. And how does somebody ruin eternity? I don't know, but you did.
It helped with the closure. But I'm so bitter over you and I'm so insane and my mouth tastes like black licorice and piss. This taste in my mouth isn't ever gonna go away. I don't have money to waste on mouthwash.
You pulled me up and hugged me tight. Like you cared, or something.
You cut your hair. It sits in strands above your skinny kid shoulders. You might as well have just punched me right square in the fleshy nose. Left it bloody and cracked like an egg down the middle with an egg yolk yellow shiner under my eye.
I hate it. Christ Almighty, I hate it, and I know now that I'm never going to see you again, cause if you still look like that, then I never want to see you again.
You don't look anything like anybody I used to know.
You tell me you were at a party last night, and that you were drunk. I don't ask details. I don't care who you were with even though I know who you were with. I don't tell you that we don't have to be friends again.
And that I heard your name in a song the other day. But it wasn't spelled the same.
Man oh man I hate your hair.
And the whole time we're walking on emotional tightropes through the brick ashen alleyways between the buildings, I'm staring at you, I'm looking for your real face. The whole time I'm crying over the fact that we have nothing to talk about.
I used to think we would save the world. But all we know how to do anymore is daydream about the past. All we talk about is the before. The didn't used to be.
I remember running fast through the aisles of cheap clothes, and laughing at the ugly jewelry. There was Arizona green tea sloshing in my stomach, and my jeans were covered in fresh mustard stains, and you had just bought the biggest bag of hot Cheetos your pint size wallet could muster.
We were proud. Like young lions.
Now your skin is sunny, and I'm sleepwalking under the dust bunnies and moss that started growing on me in the summer.
It's always you, you know. I save all the pencils you gave me because the grime on the eraser makes me think of your dirty kid face, and our dirty kid shoelaces when we were running around eternity town.
I remember. And how could I not when all I did for four months was write, and cry, and stay up 10 years past my bed time, and over analyze, and think of you. And maybe. Just maybe. In all the time, maybe you thought of me once.
But hey, I don't have to sulk. Get your new best friend to drive her mini cooper over my bloody flesh, and I promise I'll send you a postcard from hell.
I know that face, those words, those jittery shoulders. I know you're holding on too tight to us, and I think I know why. I think you think I'm lonely. I think you think I'm a little sad. But I don't need your tears, I don't want your love, or your angel cake pity party.
I am a little sad. I am crazy sad and delusional and dreaming in my waking sleep and don't know which one of us is Frankenstein, and which one is the monster.
And while we're talking about monsters, that boy you're kissing is a vampire. He'll suck you dry and crack open your bones and lick out the marrow. And you'll let him because he will tell you that it's love.
But if you're already kissing, then kiss him hard, I swear to God, see where it gets you. Watch him break your fingers one by one, and watch me say "I told you so."
Your heart all broke into little blood diamonds and band aid wrappers all on the bathroom floor. And cry into your mothers lap, and ignore your brothers misty eyes when he looks you right in the soul. And get drunk with your friends, and drive with your hot and holy lamenated drivers license to Venus and back just to find your self after he rips you to shreds.
Come back down to Earth and tell me if you see your reflection in the knife in my back.
See if Houston has a fucking problem.
Come back and see if I fucking care.
