Defunct

I think an element to me going over there was that I always felt like I was admired for my beauty and my seemingly cynic take on the world. My world. Dance Leah. I danced. Drink Leah. I drank. It is always fun to drink with someone who appreciates the wonders of alcohol as much as yourself. I talked a lot. Openly and honestly. However, never too honestly.  Sometimes I wish I didn’t talk so much there. Not wanting to calm down. I’m not sure I ever felt calm there. Why would I want that? Why not? One would ask. I would often find myself in front of the camera. Never behind. Not even to view. Never to view. Discussing the likes of life inside this bubble. Commenting on others. Not so much a judge could out judge me. One would cry. I would be unhappy. Regularly. Often block my ears. It’s easy. Easier rather. Perhaps you should leave. That feeling of being so alone. So damn alone in those initial footsteps out the door. Happiest moment for both of us. Why would I ever return? I returned. Only to find it a cycle of utter ignorance. No one ever said no more. If I were to ask how long must one feel bad to feel better, there was often no reply. Nothing even came close to sharing the way we shared whole hearted distaste. Sometimes for each other. Often for each other. Lacking the inability to cry was not apparent. Ever. A sick relationship built on resentment. Regularly for nothing or no one but ourselves and each other. In that sense it worked well. We didn’t like the word well. Thriving on being unwell. Somewhat dysfunctional. Not functioning. Defunct. 

Evidently

 not trying hard enough to

 fill this

fucking void. 

A decent setup

Snake on a windy road

In the face of evidence

In the face of evidence