Nothing is real


I’m not good with humans.
It was close to midnight. I was slightly drugged.I may or may not have been part of the conversation.I felt someone nudge my shoulder, n I realized they were talking about me.To me.Snatches of conversation,now.I haven’t thought about that in a long time.I wanted to say:maybe I am not really good at this,being human.But who is?
These days, my moods are ever volatile.I confess that I have never taken the initiative to observe them until this year.Euphoric for months, n then, emptiness. Elation, followed by loathing. Deeply exhausted
But I keep your truth inside of me because I do not want to go down because you’re the only one I get consolation from.You seem so far away right now it’s not even fair. And I can’t call you, n I can’t wish you a goodnight, n I can’t see you anymore. Your memory is…

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