I'm comin back around

& when I do there will be more posts.

In the meantime musings of my muse.

I'm not paranoid. You aren't paranoid when they are out to get you. I have photos of the people following me, I have recordings of the whispers I hear in the darkness. I see their plays 3 moves ahead. It is not my fault you cannot see it.

I'm not crazy. The voices are real. You aren't crazy as long as you question your own sanity - right? The taste of the color is real too. The pain where my heart used to be is only phantom pain. If you give me some meds I'll go away, I promise.

I'm not heartbroken. He didn't break my heart. He never really had it. I kept it hidden away. I told myself I cared, I trusted, I loved. But really how can I love when my heart is 6 feet under & locked in a coffin. When the last man who held it kept it tightly in his hand as he died.

We never really made love. I was just the piece of flesh he fucked because the woman he wanted didn't want him anymore. He never looked me in the eyes when he was inside me. Closing his eyes picturing her. I was only a momentary satisfaction that never really satisfied. He left as soon as he could after. I was a drink of water while he waited for the rain to return. He didn't love me. He mumbled it when he thought I expected to hear it. Just enough to let me believe what I wanted & not what was real. Not on purpose because he never meant to break my heart - right?

Those are pretty. I want to turn them into real lengthy poetry bits as it is I hear myself singing them into an audience w/ Aaron beside me on the violin.

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