I keep hearing horrible things about you.
It’s obvious this new medication isn’t right for me.
Too bad I already paid $1500 to use it.
Ugh.
They keep saying you would’ve gave me head, and ran off, so I could be arrested or killed by that police officer way back then.
I can’t confirm anything with you.
I can only sit here and be assaulted by these thoughts and memories.
This hate and love.
Passion.
Angst.
I wish I could just talk to you.
That’s all I want, more than anything.
To just be able to talk.
9:01
P.S.
Why do they say such dark and vile things about you?
That you “never want to make love again?”
Why do they talk about you being raped so carelessly?
Telling me about your use of illicit, illegal drugs?
Like I can fly around and save you from damnation.
Teleport wherever and whenever you are in peril?
Why couldn’t I just laugh about this when it started.
Why did you stick to me like glue.
And why don’t you care.
God.