what kisses and punches have in common is that they are points of contact.

and i suppose, that one can never take them back. whenever you kiss me, in the midst of horrific dreams, i am always angry. hot-mouthed and hot-tempered. thinking only with my skin. i was known for it, once. i left that trait behind in a version of myself abandoned on a lonely island with the others. the same place this self is destined to in an hour, a day, a month, a years time. an unknown time, but i feel the familiar stirring in my blood that says "soon". i tell myself "all will be well" in the same way you tell a child that their pet has gone to a better place. in the same way my friends call but all i can hear is them barking. better and easier so often seem like the same thing that i am always getting them confused. forgive me if i choose badly; the paths ahead are so hazy and its been such a long time since ive walked ground well-lit. sent a letter to all the pretty strangers: "either bring a torch or a flask". but everything i am and do is always too much or not enough, so i dont expect them to actually show up to this pity party. god knows i am better in dire straits than home taking time off like everyone else. flash, give me drama. give me malice. how i think about you: when you dont realise youre holding your breath til youre almost out.

i am just trying to find points of contact.