Running/Returning/Releasing

So much on my mind, so little of it worth anything, and I quote myself again, again. Make play like this is some kind of something important, like I have to say something significant, and even if I did, anyone to say it to. "I hope she liked me," is not meta, but trying to forget that the only immortality these days is in the machinery and that the only sacrament is a meme, is. That's what you told me some place, but I can't remember when, it was a long time ago. Would you save my life if I got sick? And if you get married, can I come? Because I definitely may. Now hurry up, get gone, and go get high, because I can feel the tell-tale eye sting and blinking it back is becoming arduous and definitely, this is the wrong place to be. But in a peculiar way, you clutched me by the shoulder, then walked away and forgot our phone number, leaving me at the counter, trembling, stuttering, sunglass-clad, fighting a losing battle against mascara tears and fumbling for my license so I didn't have to speak my address and, in that moment, so fucking bad I just wanted to crawl under your shirt and just hide there until I had untied the knots in my heart, but I think I burned all my capital at the last funeral. Besides, catharsis feels almost sinful in its indulgence and intimacy? Surely, they won't mind. So, next time I'm not around, tell me what I want to hear. Good luck on finding those words. I mean rolling that rock up that mountain.

The sun looks right on your face but I don't want to sleep alone anymore.

Nevermind -- strike that last one because I just remembered how much I hate it when I get what I want, like the twenty minutes of your captive audience I swindled into my possession on the way to pick up take out last night. Don't get me wrong -- I'm as much a slave to pleasure-seeking and pain-avoidance as any other human -- but the guilt of even the appearance of me exerting my will is orders of magnitude more crushing than compared to how bad it feels to go without whatever. Evil, meet Lesser Of The Two. Honestly, I'd hate to give you any more reasons to go.

We all take orders.