“Under Pressure”

I keep coming up with love but it’s so slashed and torn, why, why, WHY
If I go over there will her fire hair and hazel eyes be even more disappointing than every other time with every other someone? Slashed and torn and thrown to the throbbing masses in between us. I can’t take that hit again. But then if I can’t take the hit, when will I ever try again? If I’m not willing to go, then I’m not willing to even bet on myself. And if I’m not willing to bet on myself, then why should I ever expect her to bet on me? Just enjoy the last song of the night you stupid fuck. I do want to taste that lip-ring though.

Love, love, love, love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love, yes, love, love, love. What is it though, this love? There’s no definition of love beyond what we define it as. Webster’s be damned to definitional hell. The only thing that is holding me back from feeling his stubble brush across my lips is this love thing everyone is so bloody in love with. Love for some is literally a punch in the face followed by a hollow apology. For others, it’s something that can only be real if it’s never returned. What is love to me? I don’t know, but it’s so many different things, and changing so constantly, and so unknown that it is the only thing worth pursuing really.

Insanity laughs under pressure we’re cracking
Love is insanity and it laughs with and against us. It breaks us even while it heals, only to set us up for another break. But everything is insane until you do it. Getting up in the morning is insane because why would I want to rob myself of the comfort of my bed? But everyone does it so it can’t be insane, right? Is she crazy? I am, but maybe we are the same kind of crazy and that makes us both sane.

Can’t we give ourselves one more chance, why can’t we give love that one more chance
Why don’t I give myself one more chance, and make him that chance? Everything is a last chance really, because while I believe the sun is going to rise tomorrow, it may not and this really is the last chance for me. Can I really just finally live in the moment and take all these last chances?

Why can’t we give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love
To give her love, to love her in any and every sense of the word, I have to love myself. Do I?

To love him, I have to figure out why four letters arranged in such a way have so much power over the world. Or do I?

‘Cause love’s such an old-fashioned word, and love dares you to care for, the people on the edge of night
I dare myself to stop thinking about this and enjoy the rest of the song. But wouldn’t it be more enjoyable next to him? What’s the use anyway? People on the edge of anything are always looking forward, not back at what got them there. Or is it the other way around? If I can’t figure out my own thoughts, how can I come up with words to say to him? Do any words need to be said? Words typically ruin everything and this is so perfect right now. But perfection isn’t real, so fuck it then.

Is there any easy way to do this? Just walk over to her and say hi. Maybe take her hand. NO to the hand, people don’t like to be touched by strangers. They are daring me now with this song, but am I daring enough?

And love dares you to change our ways of caring about ourselves
The world is ending tomorrow. That’s it. It’s over. Everything you love will be gone and at the end of this song she will be as well. If only it was that easy. If only that was actually going to happen. Even if the world was ending I would still be questioning talking to someone. Do I care enough to do it? She’s pretty.

This is our last dance, this is our last dance, this is ourselves
So this is it. The house lights are going come up and we have a few moments to decide before the future that could be, is erased for the future that was always going to be, unless something changes. What am I going to do? What is he going to do? It doesn’t matter what he does. My future is my future and his is his. Fuck this. Where did he go? Shit! What’s happening? Wait. Hi! I should probably say that out loud.

Here she comes. Alright. Smile and don’t drool. When have you ever drooled anyway? Okay. Hi! Speak you idiot! Care, love, believe, act, dance, love, love, love. Speak!

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About jtkwriting

Writer living in Toronto. "Sneak out of your window darling, let's live like outlaws honey." View all posts by jtkwriting

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