lol

Part of my 500 words a day that I've been writing... some weird stuff! I don't even remember writing this?? No clue where this came from.

When you loved, you let her pull your fingers close and broken along some line or another we all speak the same language of boredom as grown ups. I remember watching you, fifteen and too much eyeliner, black gunk drenching already heavy eyelids, promises of revolution paired with the sweetness of depression. Do you remember my eyes? Glued to you, watching you, waiting for something and anyone other than you? I wanted to make myself matter by mattering to you, when really, all I needed was to make more money and do more shit. Get real, Clyde. My father was always afraid to be alone, even though he isn’t boring. I wonder what it would take to wake up everyone. A sleeping pill so big we call it the moon. When I count sheep, I could you first, just in case you can feel my fingers forming in air the swollen belly of the number five. Can you feel my pregnanted finger against the nape of that number? I know this doesn’t exist. I don’t need it to. All I need is to feel the sweetness inside you, the music above me. I have no answer for you because I don’t understand the question. She will tell me that it’s happening. And I will sigh, wonder, for the millionth time, we are all speaking backwards, in tongue.