STOP READING THIS

elsewise would be wonderful if i could not be so goddamned ridiculous. and pathetic. and frustrated. [ridiculouslypatheticallyfrustrated]
i can't. calm. down. enough. my mind. won't. STOP. it loops and surrounds itself, tying knots in my thought fragments, stretching and fraying. and i get so scared, paralysed by Night, lying there pregnant, bloated with -fuck. just fucking stop.
i can't be left alone. that's all there is to it. without you or youoryou i don't how to behave; i need the boundaries of your company to keep me in check. otherwise my thoughts just grow and expand, breathing and pulsing till they fill up the room. if i'm outside, fuck it; my head explodes.
  closing on midnight and saltwater i'm always struck by you; what you're doing. i still, me and my fucking ego,  have trouble wrapping my head around your existence outside. i try and picture you,  what your window looks like, what your morning rountine is. color of your sheets. the fact that away from me you're having a moment without me within the same.

middle-aged gas station attendants paint me pissed, tinged with pity and tom waits squinting through a haze of smoke, clutching a wine bottle dressed in a brown paper fashion. so fucking depressing, sorrowful even.

to sleep to sleep to sleep.