After We Hung Out, I Smoked A Cigarette, Watched A Drunk Woman Get Arrested, And Felt Alive. (Bullshit!)

Every time you complain about the way you look while staring into the bathroom mirror, I am pricking your finger with a sharp piece of metal from a diabetes test kit, and using your blood as mouthwash to dye teeth red. The act will go unnoticed, I think. You brush your hair from side to side. You tell me you look like shit. You tell me that I look really good tonight with nonplussed eyes glowing blue, focused on an incoming text.  

Bullshit.

I think about pushing my hand through your skull while you’re sleeping to pull out your brain because it is the only subject I want to understand.  

Bullshit.

Take a picture of yourself, post it on facebook, and send it to every contact in your phone—I don’t want to be included because I figured this puzzle out a week ago on a walk in the woods, alone. The next time you say, “I love you,” I will slide my cell phone into the slot of a mailbox made out of pine trees, sever your tongue, and turn it into a necklace using a lighter, a bent paperclip, and strand of dental floss. Pretty creative, huh?

Bullshit.

I am a mixture of sad and pissed off at the same time like a domesticated duck neutered with its wings clipped.

Bullshit.

When you talk, I’m paying attention. I’m not thinking about where I can snort the ocs in my pocket. Or about going on a ride up the mountain to smoke a bowl. Or about having a conversation with a voice inside of my head about the proper scale used for weighing out the positives and negatives of our friendship. Or about how greasy your face would look through an oven door. Or about an exit wound sprouting out of the skin and bone located above my right temple.

Bullshit.  

In three years, I will kill you with a knife sharpened on the duration of our silence. I will embed it in the padded spine of your recliner. I will push you into the recliner with force until the silver slips through the hymen surrounding your heart. You will start to bleed. And I will have a surplus of mouthwash, which means I will have perfect teeth for the rest of my life, motherfucker.

I dare you to call bullshit on that.  Fucking dare you.