I do better alone. You creep in readily awaiting my assistance. I provide because the idea of you needing me is so sweet. Your cravings of me taste like Saturday evenings when the moon is full and the sex is rough. But once you've gotten your fix, I am left tearing the room apart trying to figure out how to get mine. Trying to figure out how to be fine cause I am not okay and the memories...well they're more painful than the absence. Now my brain so full of absinthe can't quite comprehend the simple things in life. Like the concept of man and what it is to be his wife. Like the idea of someone loving me for me and not for what I can give them. None of it makes sense. Next thing you know I'm avoiding contact. My mind doesn't have room to pick apart all that....you may or may not be. You see... I'm a little fucked up. So when you said you were staying, I prepared for two. Now that you're missing I'm a little confused and if anyone knows, you know I hate being unsure. But all is well now....I've found a cure. I do so much better alone.
Hello midnight.
-DAVIS
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