Fuck Ghost.

I can't take it. I can't take the silence. Her not speaking. I can't take the talking, Her speaking.

Ghost is one sort of a mystery. I'm sure when she was alive and not a ghost, she was once very lively. Since no one will read this blog, i'll spread her guts on an open platter. To fester, to rot, to bake in the mid-day sun so that the flies will thrive on all that is vulnerable. Let's see, speak. What stands out in my mind? Well, she's a sex fiend. It's not her fault, it's the anti-depressants she's on I'm sure. It's the thing that causes her drive, because the side effect is increased libido.

The first day she messaged me, she told me had a fetish for giving blowjobs. I'm not sure what I thought of that. I fucking love blowjobs. Never got that many from X, but when I did, it was like fucking Disneyland for the first time. I thought of everything I hold dear, I thought of my integrity, I thought of my fear of sex, and my strong desire for it. I think in my mind, people who talk about sex open are often offensive. People who use sex like a game are people who holds their body without value. I used to think that was repulsive. Now I'm feeling confused. The liquid-stache of my protein shake smells like lucky charms. I want to fuck, but fate knows i'm insecure. I'm afraid that I won't last too long or that I'll just be inadequate. I probably abandon the thought of sex due to that fact. I can't take the anxiety that comes with it.

Ghost. I want you to talk to me, you said you liked me, and i said i liked you. But it was strange. Off beat. Off tempo. The solo to a song but in the wrong key. It was wrong, out of place, without rhythm. We didn't make music. I was the lead distorted guitar in full sweep, you were the clean cut soft sound of a clarinet. You were proud, I was standing without ground. I was malleable. You were stoic.

Ghost. You seem super fucking ADD. You don't talk to me as much as I'd like, and i figure you find things more interesting than I. I feel like that means you don't like me. I'm sure there's a distorted miss connection there. It reeks of paranoia. So forgive me if, i'm misplaced. I don't know how the fuck to be normal. I'm dependent. I've tasted the forbidden fruit of knowledge. I know how good life can be, but now that I don't have that sweet taste in my mouth, everything has gone bitter. The only way back to this fruit, is through someone. That someone could be you.