The Coldest Summer

I wake up every morning and by 7 AM I hate myself because all I do every second is think about you. I want to be the body of water that you sit and stare at yourself in Narcissus, yet I know that there has to be a better way for me to waste my fucking life.
By 11 AM, I hate you now as well because you’re not going to be at my place when I get off work tonight, or any night so what the fuck is all this stupid longing good for anyway? Do I even love you at all because you certainly don’t love me…
1 PM comes and I wish that I had just one devoted boyfriend instead of scores of potentials and you, you awful monster. I usually let the potentials text me love notes all afternoon about how interested they are, simply for an ego boost and I often imagine that one of them will have enough mystery and gumption to make my old worn out heart skip a beat or two. None of them ever do. No one but you, worthless monster, actually has, in a long time.
By 3 PM I hope that your soul gets devoured by a thousand greedy hyenas. There is no point of you coming to see me anyway when I know that you will not stay unless I strangle you to death and caress your corpse. That doesn’t seem like the good time that I’m looking for at all.
By 5 PM I am pissed off even more that you think that I won’t hunt you down like a mangy dog this evening and drag you home with me and keep you for a couple days, cowering in a closet, restrained. Even if I yell fuck off, I still don’t actually want you to. I don’t like it when I don’t get to see you for long periods.
By 9 PM I’m confident that you are indeed an asshole.
By 11 PM and no word from you and a few beers for dinner, I can’t stop laughing at the childish hilarity of the thing. Why am I even waiting around to hear from an imbecile in the first place who would much rather do some corny shit with townies that you secretly hate instead of being with me? Fuck you, Narcissus.
By 2 AM I realize that the problem with the dynamic is that you are only my entertainment, just a fetish. You come when I call, that’s the fucking point and when you don’t, you’re pointless. I choose to flatter you for my personal gratification but you need to understand that not only are you perishable but also and more importantly, replaceable.
By 4 AM I know that I have had so much fun pretending that you were important that we both started believing it. You simply will never give yourself permission to get anything else from me but abuse. So be it.
I wake up every morning and by 7 AM I hate myself because all I do every second is think about you. Do I even love you because you certainly don’t love me…Maybe I don’t love me either…

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