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Vice

It’s like I can see the thunder rolling in. It’s sitting on my chest and the downpour is hitting my face. I’m eating another slice, dipping in the garlic sauce that also reminds me of him. It’s thick and it sticks on my lips, I like the residue. The storm is still there, hitting harder than it did before. Emotional eating. Not even my style but something about taste makes my heart hurt less. It’s insurmountable here with raspy moisture-filled air clogging my lungs. Can you see me gasping? Do you know what it feels like to suffocate on your only love? Maybe it is too late for me. I should melt into my calories, find a darker place to sleep, light more candles to drown out decay and depression like they do in the church to absolve themselves from guilt or bless their loved ones. Tomorrow! I scream out my window. Fucking tomorrow something has to happen that will show me I am not fucking crazy and we are not alone and it’s not all accidental and coincidental! Fuck you fucks! You don’t believe in anything, you’ll die alone! At least I can still feel the rain and remember hands touching me. I know that if I’m never touched again I will die, but I was loved once by someone, somewhere so there has to be purpose. Forget your bullshit, put away the playing cards. I’m speaking to you of the ravens in Central Park watching me fall down on amber leaves and swear to god I will not be taken a fool again! And I let them in like it is a Chanukah party – let’s all make a wish and see how long the oil lasts this year. The last time you found me I was bleeding out. I guess that’s what gets me in the knees, seeing it all flow away, streaming down my arms. It’s sad and pathetic but so is every fucking vice I claim. At least I say their names out loud. You couldn’t even say what was wrong with me to my face. If you tell someone the shape of words do they know what letters you’re talking about if they’ve never seen the alphabet? Colors in halibut bones and what suffering is on the tongue. I can hear it. I can hear my life and it has been so many beats and vibrations, rattling, spiking, crescendo, crescendo! brass! strings! cello . . . piano. . . Fur Elise. That’s right. He heard me in the past, and wrote something for my future. Egomaniac. Sometimes it seems so when you see the seams of what’s holding you together. I’m amazed I’m still here. I saw it and I felt it. We are so fragile. Do not let this be the end.

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About deadendemily

Emily lives in Austin, TX. She has a minor in chaos and a major in spray paint. She likes Vincent Price and ABBA. She enjoys being covered in fake blood and writing horror stories. Most of the time she just hopes that her cat is not plotting to murder her, her cat being a minion of Satan and all. They would never suspect the cat.

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