Fluids

by May Leitz

The world isn’t like it used to be, and asking for it to be the same is asking for suffering. The time of appearances is truly over. We’re only souls now.

She comes across as the kind of person who could have a happy disposition if she ever looked up from the floor.

I understand that it’s self-destructive, but I forgot how not to self-destruct.

You feel like that to me. Talking to you feels like dancing with Dahmer.

We’re all envious of the dead.

All those poor cheerleaders who are definitely not gay being forced to die right next to the other girls they’ve always wanted to fuck. I imagine myself placing them together in a loving embrace right as their souls leave and it’s so beautiful my eyes water.

It hurts to help yourself. It hurts to make life tolerable.

All love ends. It’s inevitable. I think the inevitability of its demise makes people do crazy things to each other. We get so scared that our lover will leave us or hurt us, but in the end, that pales in comparison to what death can do. Love and its demise go hand in hand. We always lose the ones we love. Always. But tonight, I loved a woman to completion.

But how many bastards will it take before I realize who I’m actually trying to kill and what I’m actually trying to do? This has always been suicide, and now I have the knife in my hand, and it’s my time.

She’s ready to embrace me again, this time for life instead of death. This time, she will greet me with a smile. And then I walk myself right out the fucking door. Everyone tries to stop me. Everyone tells me that I can’t take care of myself. Everyone thinks they know me better than I know myself. But I know myself, and I know I like the heat on my face. I don’t think I ever want to leave it again.