I need you now.

I’ve wanted you since that night. It almost hurt to think of kissing you as you lay there, eyes closed and brain up to the hilt in alcohol. You probably would have tasted like vomit.

I know I wouldn’t have cared.

There’s a guy in a suit passed out on your bathroom floor.

I pass you during the day and you smile but it’s not the smile I want to see. Or at least I don’t think it is. I’ve never been good at interpreting how people feel about me. My two failed attempts at relationships have taught me that much. I don’t even know if I want you for your personality. All I know is that I wanted to taste the red.

Maybe you hate me. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m not anywhere near attractive enough to be yours.

If you think we should call for help, I’m here to back you up, okay?

I tell other people about the night I took care of the guy passed out on my bathroom floor and I hate myself for it. It makes you sound like a nuisance when you’re so much more than that.

Almost overnight you’ve become a twelve inch thorn sticking out from between my ribs and I want to get rid of you almost as much as I want to kiss you ‘til you bleed. I’m terrified that I’d never be good enough. That you’d never want me. That I’ll never get to see what’s under your rusted tie.

There’s no way I’m cleaning that shit up.

I’m desperate to get rid of this desire, this infatuation. I want to wipe it up with tissues and stuff it in a plastic bag, just like I did with your insides. I promise that this time I won’t wear the latex gloves.

It’s just that I can’t stand this crushing sensation. It’s grinding me down to insecurity.

Just get him the fuck out of here. He should go throw up in his own room.

You were with me the other night waiting for them to come back. You wanted to give me gin and pot. Said you weren’t afraid of death. I liked the way you danced and snapped your fingers with that smile. Yes, that smile and that suit.

He’ll be fine.

We’re fine now. Or so I think. I don’t understand. It’s like you’re just looking for attention and you know you’ve got mine. Is it unfair of me to be bitter? I have this sinking feeling that your smile isn’t for me and your life isn’t for you.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry you had to see that. Seriously, thank you for everything.”

Your vomit was red like your tie.

I remembered hearing somewhere that red ties were aggressive in the business world.

It’s seven shades of twisted because you looked so vulnerable. You were paler than the cool, gray tile that kept you hostage.

And there I was, longing to kiss a ghost.

“No problem. Just as long as you’re okay.”

It’s all so useless, isn’t it.

A/N: So, sorry I haven't been putting anything up lately. I'm pretty aware that I suck at life right about now. Feel free to make mean faces and angrily shake your fists.