Lobster

I want to smoke a cigarette. I want to get drunk off my ass so that this doesn't feel the way it does. I want to self destruct. I want to be free to be angry, when I can't. I want to fall to pieces because that's how I feel. I feel like I'm just functioning on auto pilot. I am moving forward, one foot step at a time, and trying to remind myself to enjoy the moments.

I don't.

I don't like this at all. I don't enjoy being without him. I don't enjoy sitting here in my living room, putting together this package. I don't want to put it together at all. Sending him packages means I have to admit to myself that he isn't here, and that he won't be here anytime soon. Damn war.

I hate what I have given to you America. I hate giving you my hugs, kisses, and touches. I hate giving you his warmth. I hate giving you his mind. I hate sharing him with you. While you immerse yourself in bullshit statements about eradicating the few perks we enjoy. You deploy, deploy, deploy, and you stand there and flip us the bird.

I am so emotionally exhausted. I relate to Charchee and her screaming for three hours. Maybe that would make me feel better. If only I could get away with it...

I feel like I'm grieving so many things I don't even really know how to comprehend. I don't really know how to explain who, what, where, and why. I have so much to be thankful for. I feel like my insides are being ripped apart.

Baby I wish I could leap across the planet and be near to you. A friend of mine said that based on the speed of light, you're only eight seconds away. I wish I could be light, so that I could be close to you so quickly. I wish I could be what illuminates your face. I wish I could warm your skin.