she's a giggle at a funeral.

I was outside my friend's house with a group when we started talking about love.
I asked if it meant that I'd been in love if I had my heart broken.
Because I've felt it.
They said yes because it meant my heart was in it.
I didn't tell them both times it was a guy who loved someone else.
Whether that makes a difference or not is irrelevant.
I've only been in love with guys who loved another girl.
Right when I thought my heart was back together, you texted me out of the blue.
You called me babe. You signed it with 'xo.'
I know your life is whole without me. I don't know why you did that.

I tried to erase you further by laying another guy.

Riding in the passenger seat of a five ton truck with a guy I just met, I went to work at another festival. We left on Wednesday morning. On Sunday night, I fucked him in the back of that truck.

I don't feel anything about it. I don't really like the guy. He's not hideous, he's not a model. But he had muscles. That's all that matters in the dark when you only see with your hands.

It might have been awkward the day after. I realized it only ever is because I wake up next to them. I promise myself that never again will I wake up in another guy's arms. Not any of these emotionally void hook-ups anyway.

I thought I had a logical grasp on my behaviour. I like hooking up. I want to fuck everyone in the world. And I'm subverting all the standards society has for me. The ones that expect me to preserve myself for deserving eyes, like some flower pressed in a book. But saving myself for special people... how does that benefit me? At the end of the day I still fall for guys who have already fallen for others. At the very least I can get some physical enjoyment from being depraved. And I'm not ashamed. I just feel a little sick because I might like someone else.

I finished my last shift at 8 on Saturday night. I was unhappy because the music was lame. And my brain was still adjusting from the MDMA from the night before. He gave me a bump of ketamine and I felt better. He gave me another and I k-holed.

We were in the green room which was basically just a tall tent. We left to go back to the sound board to sit but I couldn't walk. I saw a chair and hoped that when I dropped down I would fall into it. I wasn't certain I would.

I sat for ages. I tried to figure out where I was and couldn't place it. I saw the shelter that covered the sound board in the distance and I saw the shape of the stage in front of me. I wasn't able to make myself stand to walk to the sound board where I knew my friend was, but I kept trying to force myself. I felt like I was in an actual hole. Trying to figure out my setting,  I was only seeing in one dimension. It was like looking into a painting; no actual depth, just the illusion of it. I could see where I wanted to go but I knew if I stood, it would become infinitely distant. Another guy I had been working with saw me, and must have asked if I was alright. I think I smiled and said I'm fine, or maybe that I did too much of something but I would be okay. I remember talking about his roommate, who I knew. I remember him kissing me on the cheek to comfort me. He could tell I was a chaotic mess. He left and I stayed in the chair, clutching the cup that held my drink. It felt strange in my hand, like it would become soft and fall if my fist wasn't clenched. I spilled some of it. I had some strange thoughts about dying.

My friend came back and asked where I'd been. My mouth is numb at this point, like I'd been anesthetized. My tongue feels too big for my mouth, or like I have no control over it. He takes me by the hand and bring me back to the sound board. He has to pull me because I'm walking in zigzags and have spilled the majority of my drink as I do. We sit and I wait for the high to pass. People keep trying to talk to me and I make attempts but my paralyzed mouth is lagging behind my mind. I know what I'm trying to say but the words aren't quite spitting out. I decide to look straight ahead. I want to tell my friend to hold me, like it's the only thing I know will help. But I don't. A part of my brain is telling me how I don't need any guy's help. How I will always be there to save myself. And how being in a k-hole in front of my co-workers in not nearly as embarrassing as it would be to ask this guy to hold me, like a child.  I'm tired but I don't want to go to bed because I'm scared I won't wake up and I don't want to waste the last night of the festival.

It's about 10:30 when I start to feel sane again. Another good friend who I did the M with the night before comes over and asks if I'll come hang out with him. He's just done some acid. He's one of my real buddies. "I'll bring her back," he says to the guy I'm sitting with. We walk arm in arm to the other stage. We dance together in the crowd and I really start to feel better. When he wants to move spots, he grabs my hand and we walk. The way it feels when he holds my hand is healing a spot in my chest that's been black for years. The next time he takes my hand, I interlock my fingers in his. I think it makes him uncomfortable.

We go back to the other stage and I sit with my other friend by the board. It's cold, so we huddle up close with his arm around me. I want to go dance with the other guy, but this one is so warm. I kind of regret not spending more time with the other guy. He came by to talk while I was cuddled up to this one and I felt like an idiot. Because everyone sees me as being in love with this guy I work with, but I'm really just cold and maybe want to hook-up. We do eventually, the next night.

Now I realize I might have fucked up this time. I think I might actually like the guy I held hands with. I think about him a lot. We talked about music and he told me things that made me laugh and realize how alike we were. The number one reason I think I might like him is because I don't want to sleep with him, because I know it will ruin everything. I need this guy to be my friend, he's one of my favourite people. If I fuck him, I'll destroy him. It makes me sad because he's seen me with the other guy and can only assume I've slept with him. So I can't imagine he would like me much after knowing that. This is my downfall. Of living in a world where men I might have a romantic interest in would look down on me for sleeping with a new guy every time. And for sleeping with several guys in our workplace. I wonder if it's possible that he might understand I look at sex like a game. I could only hope he would, being a weirdo like me.

I suppose it's fine if he doesn't understand because I can't be with someone who wouldn't.

she tells me "worship in the bedroom."