Untitled.

I'm lonely when you're around. My brain has mismatched emotions that I should be feeling. The wrong circuits are lighting up. Or maybe, I've just forgotten how to not feel alone.
I could blame you. You're frazzled, involuntary, quiet. You aren't the savior I expected you to be.
I lock myself in my car sometimes with a bottle of vodka. The musky smell of the dark garage doesn't seep into my skin like the spirit does. I could stay there for hours. I don't think. Because if I think, I might turn the keys in the ignition and drive away from the dark garage, the missing love letters and you.
When we lie together at night, the silence is shattering and yet somehow, it's fulfilling. My hair clings to my neck in the sticky heat of the dark and it comforts me. I'm still human. I take a draw from the lit cigarette and pass it to you without acknowledging your presence. You're always there, yet you never are.
It's moments like this when I contemplate suicide. It doesn't seem like such a difficult feat to wrap my lips around the barrel of a pistol and pull the trigger. It's moments like this when I realize I wouldn't miss you.