Muse 35: VCR

found via stephanie chan

More than anything, I... I mean, I feel the soft cotton flex underneath my empty, sweltering palm as the blue rays from the television try to eat the flesh off my face. Blankly, letting the tungsten light blink for me, I try to figure out why I am sitting alone with my hand exactly where you should be.

Where have you gone? We were together once, somewhere in time.

There's a possibility I crushed you somewhere underneath my fat ass hand. So I lift my hand, scared that I'm suffocating you, but you're not underneath the mess I've crumpled. This is psychotic, but I learned a trick from the senior that taught me about sex. My numb arm retracts from underneath my thighs, and I move it, not feeling a thing. You can break the heart on my sleeve and I won't know the pain. All I think about ... I stroke the back of my own hand to pretend that this Sleeping Beauty touch belongs to you. I don't know a more fucked up way of missing you.