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the unknown terrifies me. i sleep with my light on because i am convinced that zombies and the ghost of josef mengele are out to get me. never let your guard down about that… sometimes, should the subject cross my mind late at night when i am too scared of nazi ghosts to sleep, i can’t remember why i even liked you in the first place. you’re a sweet son of a bitch. but a son of a bitch nonetheless. i’m so tired, you don’t understand, and i’m doing the best i can with what little i’ve got and don’t talk to me like you’re better than me, and that this is all my fault because it’s your fault, too, and you’re just as bad as i am. so don’t give me that look. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, these sheets are cold and these nights are long and i miss you so much even though i know i shouldn’t. but the colder and longer and lonlier things get, the more i wish you’d have stayed around but there’s no turning back now, is there?
