I am trying to believe that you aren’t part of my life anymore but your images still feel so real and recent. You are such a pansy and you have your hooks in me still, how dare you. Two months. I’ve never devoted this much time to pain and suffering to any guy, let alone the one who gave the WORST blowjobs of my entire life. And you were one of the lousiest lovers I’ve ever had. But I think I loved you and I think I can’t get over you even though I’m going to soon. I just hooked up with this alcoholic. So listen, get the fuck out of my brain. Get the fuck out get the fuck out. It’s this shadow fantasy of you, it’s not even you. The worst thing right now is the memory of the songs that remind me of you because they used to be like cocaine/xtc but now they’re like stepping on broken glass. I’m trying to cry as I write this but I’m frozen. I need release from dwelling on your fucking fantasy unicorn self (shitty blowjobs and yellow molars in reality). Idealizing. I should just stop that. It still hurts. It still hurts in my neck and deep in my addicted obsessive and hijacked amygdala brain part. Anyway, you’re a pussy and I love you but it’s time to get the fuck out. So get the fuck out.