perpetual permafrost

alcohol runs rivers through my veins, and i feel flooded. i make absolutes about me, but i only have absolute control over my thoughts — but my body and my heart are beyond my control. i still cannot put into words how i fell for you, but here i am, fallen for you. this can’t be a mistake if i am still thinking about you. i am dying to do something, but to do something would be pretty reckless, but hell, i’m pretty and i’m reckless. though any progress feels lost in blackout memories. i barely know you at all, i know nothing of what you think of me, but whatever it is, it’s not good, and if it’s good, it’s not good enough for me. boys try to fuck until they run out of luck, but i have already ducked out of the way. they blur into a conglomeration of not-you, not-you. sometimes i wish i was not as ludicrous as this, either loving passionately and unconditionally — or not at all. i am begging myself to not love you at all. it was never something you earned.