What a revelation it was, yet it explained allot. My first response was to try figuring out how I became this way, but I stopped dead for the answer was clear: adaptation. This was something very difficult to admit, but I couldn’t play seek and hide for long. Eventually I got caught up in my own game and now it’s just my buddy Venlafaxine and I.
It’s a fact, I was in perpetual love with emotional angst and I must say in the past five years I’ve really torn a few ruthless gashes at my soul. The causes, I had seen coming from afar, grandiose and full of promise – that either of bliss or utter destruction. The outcome never mattered to me for the rush of adrenaline would so rapidly intoxicate me with desire. Oh what beautiful falls they were… the feeling of searing pain climaxing within my chest, almost cutting the very air I breathed. In that I found devastating pleasure.
It has been a year now that this pain junkie has gone clean. I want to be happy. I have enough emotional baggage to last me a lifetime for all my creative needs. No more, no more.
When I first laid eyes on you, the sleeping bitch inside of me awoke then recoiled. Never had she seen the likes of you. I tried to hush her back to sleep, convince her it was nothing, but she remained alert. After weeks of getting accustomed to you, she started gaining more confidence and began to gently paw my heart in anticipation of our next encounter. At night her cries would keep me up, slowly they began to creep into my mind and I felt I was loosing grip, she had the upper hand now and I was just along for the ride. Thoughts of your slender fingers caressing my skin and mine running through your thick dark hair, thoughts of getting lost in your blue eyes. All were swimming in my pool of a head. Does she know something I don’t? Is it my fear that’s holding me back? I wanted to be happy so I put her to bed, now why is she running my life again instead?
"I need you. Don’t hurt me."
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