Right Align Sigh

Being in my room makes me feel sick to my stomach.

It's the scene of a crime I've been committing.

I just can't help myself... can't stop myself... won't stop it from happening.

No true regret, just earnest lust and hopeful disposition.

Lots of positions.

It's wrong... I know it is... I'm setting myself up for an unfair heartbreak. I'm even getting lied to and know it... but it's forgivable. I'm no fool. I sense these lies and ignore them accordingly. Why? So I can get off? Maybe... Because I want to pretend what we have is more? Absolutely.

Sigh.

I know it's not more. Don't be confused. This is just me grumbling, to myself.. and to those who lurk this blog in hopes to find some greasy, dirtydirt on me. (Or you're just nosey) Either way. Yeah. Here I am. Being played like a fiddle.

And liking it.

(A bit too much)

On the surface anyway. I mean... it's not like I enjoy the game, that's not so much a game, because I was never mislead about the outcome. Also, constant reminders of the omitted truth surface and I am left, head sagging... kicking myself... because I can't even be mad about it. I don't really want to be mad about it either, seems like too much work. Too much effort to get all nutso and demand attention from someone who isn't doing anything wrong... per se.

Maybe I'm just not meant for this type of thing?

I remember telling her, "I don't do relationships anymore" I re-read that sent txt for days after sending it. It burned in my throat and made my pupils dilate as I slithered my eyes around the open space around that printed txt, which bounced off of a satellite somewhere and was delivered to her phone... impartial to what it might mean to me. Not once did that satellite think, "O shit, she didn't mean to send that. Heh, *delete* Never happened." Instead... it sent, within seconds... like it was a brief breeze on a spring day... everyone felt it but no one particularly cared either way. Well, I cared. A great deal. I felt fake when I typed it, resented when I sent it and weighed down once it confirmed it had been delivered. Not that it matters. In this situation the worst case scenario is that I begin to receive no attention what so ever if my feelings are ever expressed, wholeheartedly.

But is just being a flesh covered, organic, blow up doll acceptable?

Really?

I don't know... I'm so sexually under-stimulated and she's so very good at fixing that for me... It's a dilemma I face and I'm greatly unsure of how I would like it to come to pass as it were. It's weighing me down though, I know that much.

Sigh.