Stupid Toothbrush

Two days is enough you think?
Good.
I did a line of coke last night, for the first time since my 15th birthday.
It'll probably be the last time I do a line of coke.
Not because I didn't like it,
but because it sped up the drum beat.
Four beats turned into four beats double time.

Ratta tata, ratta tata.

"I don't want to die"
"I forgive you'

Both are true.
But I don't think you realize how contradictory those statements are.
Because by forgiving you I killed a Me that hated to be.
That hated you.
By forgiving you I was forgiving me.

I've died so many time in the last month,
if my life was a sentence,
the speaker has a stammer.

I wanna curl in a ball and sob when I see a toothbrush,
or a guitar,
or a horse,
or a tanktop,
or a bottle of sunscreen.

But goddamnit that's okay.

I don't know how long it'll be till I'm capable,
 of anything close to the ecstatic joy that you trademarked.
But I'm certain when I do,
It'll have something to do with you.

Because the drums aren't drums.
They are fucking metronomes.
And you always loved music.

Someday I'd love for us to try again.
But I won't hold out hope.
Because I'll have to learn how to live without mon chaton,
and you don't need Diablo.

And that's okay too.
Because you are literally the best.
Not just the best thing to ever happen to me but just The Best.
And you have priority.
Priority for you because you should always think of your own well-being first.
Priority for me because I'm stupid like that.
Like a toothbrush salesman waiting for his favourite customer to grow a new set of teeth.
You never know. Could happen.