ROTGUT (ROTGUTVERSE)

by H.S. Wolfe

We started hooking up not long after, and Hawthorne was all small gifts given with an air of indifference and charming words. Nothing was official, but by that point I was sick with obsession, deep in my infatuation, would have given him the world and then some.

Puppy barks,

hehe

The darkness is playing a trick on my eyes after another night of piss-poor sleep. I just stare at it, my brain trying to make sense of what the fuck I’m looking at,

At some point I went from surviving to just floating between my days like a ghost, my energy and executive function nowhere to be found. I’ll get around to organizing that bookshelf, I’ll get around to putting those boxes away, I’ll get around to it, I swear. Thinking about it makes me feel unwell.

I brought all this darkness to our show, decimated the audience with it. Then Hawthorne couldn’t bear to see me raw, stole my heart and hated what he saw so thoroughly that he’s fucking dead.