Sensory overload

Between me, you, and this joint... I'm doing not so great. Pressing sour candies between my lips between drags, praying for the panic to stop. Swimming in this high.

But too far out to sea.

Eekers

Late nights are harder to dedicate myself to nowadays. Remember when that was all there was? When we would drown ourselves in pool water and drink hearty and without care. Throwing myself at people, into them, aggressively and unafraid. Once. There was time. 

Now it feels like I've hardened. As if against bitter, unwavering wind. The memories are spirits, soft and curling into the sunlight. Light as air. 

His voice, so close to the phone, drips with resentment. Anger. Disgust.

But I've been here before. I know what it means to be the shitty flake, bitch loser, eager whore.

And it's all my fault again and again and it is though trust me it's ok it's ok. 

I melt into the floor through my feet. I never look up.