November 15th, Year of the Corpse

The Corpse has made it known to me that he only sought my company to alleviate his loneliness, but that my mood fluctuations have made him question whether it is worth the trouble. I tell him to belt out that song from the mountaintops. I say, you are free and just what do you plan to do with your impressive wingspan. At this, he looks at me with his dead eyes, saying nothing. The cold silence that summons poltergeists.

There is my cue. Walk away. Again. Again. Again. Romance on a loop. Love as a broken record. Monologue slightly altered for each performance. Don’t bore your audience. Present them with something new. Make them feel special. The show is never as good when attendance is low. Take a bow. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Pretend not to care. Ignore every phone call. Don’t exit through the front door. Dye my hair blonde. Say it isn’t for him, though it is exactly for him. Stay away from electronic messages. Sleep to forget. Stay awake, in hopes he searches for my affection.

This is strange, I am strange, and the world is strange.

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November 15th, Year of the Corpse

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