the tensions pulling me apart, keeping me whole. i was told, often enough, i was a pain junkie, that i got off on it, the pitch of despair, the dark rebellion. i really need to rewrite all of this, but life isn’t like that, there is no rough draft, only unwieldy appendages, unyielding. it’s all quite alright if you circle the rim and not get caught up in the tide. it’s nonsense i know, but it comforts me like nothing else, not even the bottle or the bed or the fleeting oblivion promised by each.