you used to meet me on the eastside

How do you reach in your chest and slap your heart?

Stop being so fucking needy, I'd say, if I could. And I wouldn't give it some weak ass bitch slap, either. Open palm, reach all the way back into Texas, need to ice it for a few days afterward kind of slap. Stop being so hungry. Stop it. STOP IT.

The problem with me is that once someone shows me a different side of them, I cannot help but become addicted to that side. Rare glimpses are like heroin to me. I can't see someone else in the old light once they have been bathed in the new. Of course, people have to protect themselves. Can't blame them. Don't I do it? Am I not doing it, now? Hypocrite, hypocrite, I whisper.

Right now that stupid ball of blood in my chest is going through the DTs. There's nothing I can do to stop it; it won't stop looking for the next hit, the next score, the next big thrill. There's something about having a wild dog locked inside of your chest that makes everything else seem so fucking flat. It wants things it can't or shouldn't have. It doesn't even know or care what it wants, as long as it gets the food it needs. It wants to make people change just to suit me. And my brain-overexhausted and out of answers, has pretty much turned to a metaphorical wall, clapped its metaphorical hands over its metaphorical ears, and screamed, "BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH CAN'T HEAR YOU!" So, no help there. My heart is the sheltered nineteen year old who goes to a college party once, tries X, makes out with the cutest boy there, and wakes up in the morning wanting to do it again, drunk on the freedom. And again. And again.

The problem with that is that the same heart does not live in the chest of a slutty nineteen year old. It lives inside of me, a pretty fucking chaste thirty two year old, and I'm afraid that no matter what I do, this ball of blood, this nineteen year old skank, this hungry thing

is never going to be pleased. I could feed it and feed it and it'll still want more. Better. More of a kick. New highs which can't go low. And everything, as we all know...gets low.

You did this to me. I used to be able to muzzle it, keep it in check. And now it's fucking terrorizing the goddamn neighborhood. Thanks a lot.

-Rae