Fuck you, man. Seriously. What right did you have to take it all away from me.
You've been gone for two fucking years and what, I still can't fill up? I get to trick my self now-and-then into some false realm of semi satiated recovery and then you creep up on me? I'm "fine" one day, oblivious to the lies I've been allowing myself, then BAM. MOTHER FUCKING BLOOD CLOT NAIVE BITCH. Nah, you ain't that free. You still have to walk out of those doors and drive home with an unexpected frown. You still have to feel that nothing, that numb emptiness that can't actually 'feel'. Sure, you're confused at first, the void crept up again so silently.
You'd think it would be best described as heavy, leaden, stiffling. Most would, everyone gets it. But it's weightless. It's empty and airy. My lungs don't exist, they are so light. It's weak and weightless. It's made of like, three spider web strings. They don't break, but they don't support. You're not that far under, you're not that bad off, you're just stuck.
Someone stole my weight. Someone left me with only three strings. I know everyone has had it stolen. E v e r y o n e .
I just wasn't expecting it tonight.
Fuck you, man. What right did you have. What did you ever give me that would warrant this exchange.