It's Not That I Miss You Exactly, Just That:
I need to hear firework words seep from mouths. I need to taste the sweet sapour of confusion and challenge, flowing smoothly between us like a sip of fine single malt. I need the intellectual stimulation that your absence has cruelly rendered from me. I want it back- the euphoria of disagreements argued out. I want it back- the comeraderie of competitors.
You hurt me in so many ways; but the only one I can't let go of, is the deprivation I now face of lucid conversation. I ache for it. I pine for it. Conflict is my drug. You were my favourite dealer. And now the withdrawal is kicking in hard. Come back to speak of morality, mortality and truth, my dear hypocrite. I need your skills. Talk to me...
Arouse my mind.
Wake me up from this nightmare of mediocrity. Im paralysed within it. Im desperate to see you in all your phony glory. Remind me what it felt like to drip life from each of my pores. Remind me of the sickly sweet stench of decaying love and trust that used to emanate off of us whenever we were together.
Heal me or render me comatose. Mere paralysis is unbearable.