Edited for Content

Edited for Content

An excerpt:

Last night I talked on the phone for a really long time...how long exactly I couldn't say.
He tried to crack my enamel to inject his own version of date rape novacaine.
A few feathery fractures materialize,
but not in any place of importance,
or dangerous
(a few between my collarbones and one just above my right ankle).
I basked in my pride as I told him I'm numb to his advances,
I realize that I didn't care
and I meant it.
He spoon fed me heaping clumps of sticky honey
words apparently assuming that I couldn't resist the sweetness;
and though some it may have gotten stuck inside the fractures he created,
the mixture got no further
(I believe it's safe to say)
and in time the air will suck it dry and
it will crackle and decay.
No harm will come to me, and that
is because of me.

Trying to move on and regain my ego, here I go:
I'm going to try and write without going back to read and check myself.
I refuse to nit-pick, but I am selfish and obsessive, psychotic and lame.
Way to build myself up.
I'm overly caffeinated and I can't let go of this selfish and one dimensional game.
I want to care and cry and bleed.
I want to love again and stretch my arms out wide and scream.
I wonder then would my point drift softly across the borderline?
And once it reached the other side, so weak it would dissolve into powder, fairy dust.
My first fuck cocaine.
Then, and only then will you be able to read me?
You want to know if I ever write about you.
well yeah fucker, I do.
Do you need me to spell it out for you?
Are you in such dire need for reassurance about your negative affect on me?
Some hot air for your ego,
wrinkled and deflated,
am I right?
is that how you want to be?