Face in the window

Been keeping the craziness at bay

Bolstered up a wall of business

But she watches me through the window

Sometimes a forlorn face, like a sad forgotten friend
Other times she sneers and taunts,
Telling me that we both know that she will get in. 
It's only a matter of time.
And I turn my back and go back to being busy. 
Run Swim Plan Host 
Lick Suck Kiss Fuck
Running out of things to do.
Running out of places to hide from the face in the window. 
She knows my secrets and she's gonna tell. 
Everyone will know that I'm not well. 
Then they'll all stand at the window and sneer
And drive me insane just like her. 

I wish the bitch would just fucking die. 

Jokes, the bitch is I.

 

When life gives me lemons

Some people labour under the misconception that I’m a nice person. That I’m good and kind and decent. Yah, its ok, I’m not offended if you laugh out loud.

So those poor souls might be severely shocked and ashamed when I say I seem to have dropped my standards . . .  Speaking about the caliber of playmates obviously.

Have this terrible habit of, when seeking solace, I pick up the first available plaything. Sad when the expression “as sweet as lemons” is lost - flies like a kite clear above their gel spiked head. Am I being cruel? Unkind? Whatever.

 My dilemma: Is my need for distraction more desperate than my intolerance for the tedious?  I take a breath and consider. Subject at hand offers so little challenge, requires so little effort that even at his best he leaves far too much of my mind still swimming in sadness. It’s not worth the frustration. And I will be frustrated. Like trying not to finish the sentence when talking to a stutterer.

 Eish, the trouble we’re willing to take on to avoid the void of loneliness….

 Option B equally uninspiring. Subject is sufficiently skilled and wonderfully witty. But … too close for comfit.

Option C. Well … Once upon a time, I might have move mountains for a moment with this man. But now, ... now ... well I don't know. I sometimes suspect he thinks of me as I think of subject A. And how do I think of him? Well I don't, much. I wish him well and see the sense in leaving him in peace. 

Option D is not an option. 

Would you believe that in the past 24 hours I've had invitation from three different gentlemen? Yah, I'm as suprised as you. No clue how that happened. How does that make me feel? Flattered? Chuffed? Try empty, anxious, aching. 

So after carefully considering subjects A to D, I find myself wondering why I'm considering them at all. And then I recall with pain: Distraction.  I need distraction. When in quiet moments I find all my insecurities come charging at me, all my anxieties descending on me, my only defense is to throw myself into fresh chaos.

 An important discovery I made in recent hours was that a bruised ego feels much like, and can often be mistaken for, a broken heart. What am I saying? That I’m not really in love with the reason for my heavy heart? I don’t know.

But I do know that I’m hurting…