He Never Looked Back

Well, that never finished because of Sweetie's (wheaties!) call and our talk. I think I finally am letting go. And as badly as I yearn for him and yearn for him, when I let go of him, I feel free... I can breathe... I feel strong and sexy and beautiful without him. It is healthier and better and as much as I love him, right now he can't give me what I need... I have to say goodbye.

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Later (and canning it). Cleaning and sorting the makeup (and the great white disgusting underload). I hate myself so much. When VJ told me that she tried to scratch her skin off, I remembered the edge of that blade and how I fantasized about all that yellow... oozing out of the cracks, mixed with my blood-- those fantasy wrecks... my arms and legs twisted and stretched. Joints spinning backwards... eyes glassy and wide... bruises on my forehead and around my eyes and the sickness of cigarette smoke, black eyes and those greedy, selfish little flashes lapping up all the puddles of pain (puddles!).

And trapped here in an apricot hell (streaks of color running through the bathtub drain) and the clenching and churned and raised hair.

Fuck sensitivity!

Strained leopards with striped panties, a Chinese shoe and a red plastic box all floating on a sea of denim. (Still-life of rejection).

I know he will never want me... never love m... I know that it is over. Time to say goodbye. Let him do the hoping and dreaming for a while and let it be my head that is turned (turning).

It's time for me to look at what else is out there... After all, I have been staring at him for a year and he never looked back once... Not once.

Lost.