I’m sorry I will not be at your party. Someone else ruined my day and it is the someone else that introduced me to you. When I get angry at him, the half-ring horizon turns a hazy yellow and a rock rises in my chest. The world begins to tilt on the edge of a counter. I can’t tell how big anything is and I wonder if I’m really here.
I’m sorry I will not be at your party. I want to be there and I am dreading how guilty I will feel about having not gone tomorrow, when I will feel up for going anywhere. Instead, I ate whole wheat waffles with syrup for dinner then masturbated about the man I watched work at the diner during lunch. We do not have a table at home.
I’m sorry I will not be at your party. I will be thinking about god and how I only call her when I don’t really need her, the same way I do with all my closest friends.
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