Editting the Songs

When I get depressed I play solitaire. I like how chanced every loss and every win is. Each outcome decided before I've even begun. There's comfort to be found in such a situation when at the mercy of fickle hormones and pregnant synapses.

I sing with the songs. Flatly echoing their cants in my broken breaths. Scouring my memories of sex for something I can use to get off on now. But they're all still pictures. The sound gone. The movement forfeited. To the czars of survival. How? How if we can always learn to live out them could we have needed.

How could it have ever been love if time can just take it all away from us.

Grwoing old one playlist at a time. Wanting to remember the pain. So alone now that i've only myself to blame.