I hate her.
Because I love her.
I can't take my eyes off her.
Off
the black to colorful, geometric, two-dimensional
Goddess of apparent infinity.
Who, single-mindedly,
lights up one's periphery.
T.V.
I love thee!
Though art the most tempting deity.
For all that you give,
I thank thee.
All I can think about is the fix. I calculate the minutes and hours at my disposal. Until the next showing-up, the next social performance where I have to appear "normal".
All I want is to fix this mess in my mind. I know what will do it. I don't care that it's temporary. I don't care how bad the crash later might be. I just want to feel better, pretend, even temporarily.
There's a recklessness to my urgency. Because fixin' it makes me feel free.
Needing it is better than needing anyone. Because who cares anyway? Who doesn't have a pile of shit to deal with? No one needs more shit.
That's why I fix it, my way. Albeit temporarily.
