Originally Posted by thespian86

I spend so much.
You have no idea.
I spend so much of my life fucking petrified,
And I’m not sleeping 20 hours a day.
So I shake a lot.

Today I heard more than a couple comments in passing,
People discussing the longer days,
And all I could feel was –
Thank god.
The nighttime is really hard.
There was a mild winter morning a few months ago,
Two hours departed from where I could stand how lonesome I was,
I just rode a streetcar west,
In hopes of finding a little cheap salvation in virgin soil,
To discover pieces of America in Queen West pawn shop fronts,
I almost wanted to white wash the city,
I wanted to set myself of sentimentality,
Like I’d white wash myself,
I swear,
I will.

Sometimes I get so caught up,
I end up spending too much.
Like a communist I spend.
And I spent those hours aching,
Sprawled uncomfortably across the back row,
Displacing the Tuesday barfly who sat three rows up instead,
And when we got to the other end I just sat with my head in my hands,
Praying to you I guess,
‘Please just go away.’
I just felt ill.
I just felt ill with you,
Where before I was drunk,
Now it was pure decline.
And I told myself:
‘this is going to happen forever’

I fashionably chose further deprivation.
Three blocks west of here.
Leaving a coffee shop the next afternoon,
A bitter cold Tuesday,
I bumped into a woman with a dog
A childhood dog that I miss in an unusual way,
But instead I undressed her with my eyes,
And felt soulless.
And I can’t remember where I was walking,
But I know it felt shameful,
I felt so unlike myself when I got on the next streetcar,
Like the negotiation that got me out of house earlier that morning,
I said: “Maybe if I work at it, it’ll change”
Which is all I ever let myself attempt,
Yeah, I longed to feel something wild,
I guess it was meant to remind me of why I love this.
When really,
It really just felt like a poorly timed sexual conquest.

And though I’m not obsessed,
I still think you’re perfection.