Night shift: back on call.

Posted: September 25, 2011 in hidden admonishment

If you’re not going to help me out, the least you can do is shut the fuck up.

It’s been awhile.
I’ve gained a little weight.
My hair has grown back.
I have something new to show you.

You tell me the same three things you always have, and you repeat them with some sort of ritualistic absentmindedness. While you commented on forgetting about how sad I look, I don’t need the reminder at all. Don’t worry yourself with it, I think, but you wouldn’t ask for me if it honestly bothered you. At least I have that; the misfortune of knowing that I’m stuck being who I am.

I can’t wish my own sister a happy birthday.

I clung to you for as long as I possibly could, even though the sentiment was hollow and I couldn’t find comfort
waking up twice and leaving in resignation.
You will always have something I can’t find.
I don’t bristle against the trends to appear unique. It’s contempt for the insidiousness of that very mindset.

I cried into my chemistry formulas afterward and watched the sun rise.
The SI notations blurred into Myanmar.

It’s never going to happen.
The sooner I roll over, the better.

It’s no longer a question of what I deserve.

You just don’t understand.
The improbability is crushing, but I can’t shake it
change it
kill it

or carry it on my own.

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