early hours angst

“you sound just like my father” i reply with bitterness.

probably wasn’t the best analogy to use while he was abusing drugs.

i wasn’t upset, just angry.  all the hurt and hatred rooted from my father’s addictions, and now i was in love with a similiar case.

i made him squirm and feel vulnerable.  i made him repentful.  that’s what i do.

i cant swallow my pride just enough to give anything more than tough love.  it’s how i operate.

i’m fooling no one, barely getting any sleep just to stay awake with a troubled man tripping off of medication.

i wouldnt want it any other way,

i’m obsessed with the struggle.  life isn’t life when everything is okay.  everything has never been okay.  that is life.

he craves drugs i crave him.

he’s fucked up more than i could ever be.  but he’s so beautiful.

am i a glutton for punishment or do i just follow patterns?