A Short (Sad) Story

a wrote about him until all the pens
i owned ran out of ink and stared at me
accusing me of wasting my time
and their life
and 59 people wrote 58 things
because 1 had no thoughts and ten pens that had run dry
every morning when i wake up
i am thinking of him
and at night i am thinking of ways to not think of him
the cycle would eat me alive
if it was hungry
or if i tasted like anything else but salty tears and
cheap lotion
but here i am
and that night i knew
precisely what i did not want to know
i threw up 27 times and sat there feeling bad about myself
and my angle on the world
and how i was looking down on it while it was looking down on me
and so i threw up 2 more times and then i walked away
maybe because i couldnt picture life without him
but probably because i could


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