Ink-Stained Fingertips

"Every single night, I endure the flight Of little wings of white-flamed Butterflies in my brain. These ideas of mine Percolate the mind, Trickle down the spine, Swarm the belly, swelling to a blaze. That's when the pain comes in"
"Every Single Night" Fiona Apple

So my exboyfriend, who had this heinous fear of commitment, just gave up his dream of being a doctor and studying in Denmark to go to a catholic college (he’s atheist) in a rinkydink town to go to school with the Class of 2012 whore. It’s quite pathetic actually. She’s going to cheat on him and fuck his life up so bad. I’m trying not to be sad that he couldn’t commit to me in the slightest, but mostly I’m mad that she gets to be the one that screws up his life and not me. I’m sure that makes me a horrible person, but he was so awful to me. But considering his complete paradigm shift, I figure I must have fucked him pretty bad to make him latch on to the next interested person. I told him I had begun to hate him, and I think that destroyed his confidence and self-esteem, and led him to this. So in a way I am responsible. And you wouldn’t believe how horribly vindicating it it, to know that you CAN impact someone like that.

So I kind of got dumped, and I dyed my hair dark red to look like Florence and I feel like a fake. The smell of the dye and the steroids in the medicine are making me shake and I feel nauseated. I wish I wouldn’t of dyed my hair, but leaving it be still wasn’t my natural color and I hate my natural color so I’d still be a fake, just not a dizzy, chemically high fake. My lungs are killing me and I’ve got a shitload of homework to do, and I just feel like shoving it all through the paper shredder. I’d smoke a joint, but that’d make my lungs worse and make me feel like a coward as well as a fake. I’m one hell of a lonely person and I find no solace in music or movies. I already tried hiding away in the movie theatre but I couldn’t fit in her shoes and I didn’t like the comparison of her life to mine. I could wallow in the words of Edgar Allan Poe and sit in the sun, or in the dark, but I’d still fail my classes. And I could fill the pages of my own book and claim to publish it one day for a return on my investment of time, but I’d still be hiding in my own head and I’d still end up failing and then I’d better finish that book because then Authorial Plan B is a go. I hate three of my friends, wait make that four, and my best friend is busy, and I don’t want to see my stoner friends. And I could pour my heart out to the kid in New York who keeps texting me, but he only texts to brag and awkwardly hit on me and I’m trying to give him the hint to get lost.

I just want to be held by you right now. I tortured myself yesterday and wrote down the details of our intense three day relationship, and I guess I opened up that almost week old wound. Fuck me for wanting to remember something about my life I’ll hold dear in three years. And I know that you holding me would be fake as well because you might have a girlfriend and it hurts me that you want me to lie about what we did. I wouldn’t of told, you don’t have to swear me to secrecy because you’re ashamed of me and don’t trust me. What we had was better kept a precious dark secret anyway; it’s sexier that way. And because I still wanted to be friends at least, more if you’d let it, I scared you off and now I’ll never know that band you thought I’d like, and that’s a sin because music is my reason to exist. You just robbed me of one reason to exist.

I’m angry because I have no one to pleasure me, and I’m angry at the potential we had to have so much fun together this summer. Hardly anyone likes me, why did you have to like me and then cut me off as soon as we got off the plane? DO YOU SEE THE WASTED POTENTIAL? THE HOPE THAT’S BURNING DOWN AROUND ME? You ruined everything.

But I know that it wasn’t much to hope for, only a wild fool’s dream, because I would have been your other woman or maybe one of your many FWBs. And I didn’t want that. I certainly didn’t want anything serious, but I did want something monogamous. So I guess it’s best that it ended now before I could get hurt anymore.

I don’t hate you, but do you know why I should? You made me connect to Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” song. You’ve got me unwillingly humming I knew you were trouble when you walked in, so shame on me now. You blew me to places I never been, but now I’m lying on the cold hard ground!

And now I am lying on the cold hard ground, singing Taylor Swift like a laryngitic canary, and that, my ex-lover, is a sin.

I inexplicably can’t stop thinking about you. You weren’t wildly attractive, yet you set my skin on fire. I knew I shouldn’t count on you, but one day you came through and I can’t deny the way you make me feel. You’re tearing me up. Satisfy me already. I’m so curious. If you scorn me, I’ll convince myself that you’re imaginary.

I know we’re going to crash and burn. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to spend every last second of it with you- touching, laughing, kissing, living.

Edgar Allan Poe. From “The Valley of Unrest”

Edgar Allan Poe. From “The Valley of Unrest”

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.
-Edvard Munch