Desperately Wanting

Occasionally I think about you, the way you had this mouth that seemed to open up far too wide, and I am strangely, perversely enthralled by how much you held on to me, how long I felt you worm your way through my guts.

If that was love, I don’t know what I’m doing right now with my life.

I prefer to think of you in terms of intestinal parasites.

I had a bad case of you, and now I’m finally cured. It’s so different, not giving a shit about you, that I sometimes remember that I did. I suppose you will always be a scar, faded and fading, still — but there, marking me.

I had to bear witness to what you did to me, to become the person I am. I am not certain I can say I would not change what happened, but I am certain I can finally say I forgive you.

Now if only you’d just stay dead.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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0 Responses to Desperately Wanting

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Yikes. That last line certainly came out of leftfield (in a good way). Welcome back, Jones. Always great to read your stuff.

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