A lot of red marks on this mornings free writing.
It is evening now, but I did rise this morning and write again.
I ache for time alone to write for days on end.
Never stoping as if I have found a new lover and that tightness comes back to my cheeks. The roundness to my lips.
The same happens when a new love is near and I am hunting again…
I have not hunted in a while .
I am lonely in that realization.
But only because I am addicted to new.
I am addicted to a lot of things. Like sex, weed, alcohol, arguing. Having a partner that comes into the room and I cannot write anymore.
I am sick of this life, sick of the noise, sick of the sick.