Heart-shaped box

I wanted it to flow all into one big thingy, so pardon the lack of paragraphs:



We sit on the couch, our thighs so close it's like theyre glued together. We sit and contemplate the song playing in the next room like it's our life and downfall. I sip my vodka and smile to myself thinking of times past with friends and family. You drink your vodka and hum the music and I see your soul float across my face. You ask me what I'm thinking about and I tell you that it's not important. Somehow we manage to get even closer and I chug the rest of my drink, hoping it'll make the pressure disappear. It's bullshit. There's fire in my chest, not just from the vodka, and I have no extinguisher. You have that power over me. I feel gasoline in your thigh and it makes my body burn for you. You laugh at the words to the song and how it reminds you of a dollar store where old people fight over the last ten pack of Christmas cards. I laugh at your imagination and say that it reminds me of fucking, pure fucking. Straight up fucking. You stare at me puzzled because the words are romantic and airy--not necessarily something linked to the pace of fucking. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in my own mind. I have no answers for you, sorry. It's what comes to mind. That's how my body feels when I hear the song. Music bleeds from the speakers so eloquently. I can't believe how perfect the volume is in correspondance to my mood--to our conversation. I breathe in deeply and take in the words and feel the ocean wash over my face. I swear I can taste the salt, too. Maybe it's the vodka. Maybe it's the song. Maybe it's you. You lovely boy, you fill my cup with more vodka and finish the rest of yours of f and fill your cup too. We celebrate the roof over our head and chug the fiery water. Maybe things won't be so awkward now. Vodka always makes everything better. I love vodka. I feel my blood hot through my veins and my legs are softer. But I still feel you pressed close against me. I wonder if you feel it too. Music changes lives. I want to climb on top of you and fuck your brains out. Pure fucking. I'm pretty sure you're just thinking of the song and how it relates to you. So I sit and do the same and forget fucking your brains out. What does the song mean? Pain and love. What else is new? It's a favorite topic in music. When I write lyrics, that's what it's about: pain and love. Love and Pain. Two entitiies that couldn't be more different, yet come together like peanut butter and jelly. I hate peanut butter and jelly. I know you love it. That makes me smile. I think we're like peanut butter and jelly. Can I be the jelly please? I laugh and you ask me what's going through my brain and I just say "grapes." You roll your eyes and tell me to lay off the liquor as you pour me more vodka. I think you're getting me drunk for some reason or another. I'm probably wrong though. Wow, this is a good fucking song too. A slow fuck. A deep fuck. Meaningful with passion, not cold. I only sip my drink and you chug it and take another cup full. You lean back on the couch and breathe out slowly as you cover your face with your hands. I love it when you wear that red shirt. It makes me laugh. You remind me of a big tampon. I laugh again and you laugh too. Only I dont think you're laughing at the fact that you're Tampax or something. I have no idea what we're doing on this couch. It's a Wednesday night and there's work to be done. I should be reading. You should be writing. But we'll just sit and sip liquor until homework melts away. Nirvana. What a good band. They melt away the homework. Or Maybe it's the vodka. It could be you. My legs feel mushy now and my fingers are numb. I love vodka. Did I mention that? I should really stop here. Get some water and sober up a bit. I feel mushy, but your hand is on my leg now and slowly moving upward. I just look at your hand, too afraid to stare into your eyes--that consequence is something I can't handle--I might actually fall to pieces. We have no actual glue between us to put me together again. Up, up, up your hand goes and I only stare at your knuckles. The music is slow now. It makes me calm. Coldplay is good like that. Now I just want to make love. Our eyes finally meet to see if you're feeling it too, but they're closed and your neck is tilted back. I stop your hand and get more to drink. It's water this time. I need to drive home. I could just stay over but my parents wouldn't appreciate that too much. Eh, who gives a fuck. I'm almost legal. No. I need water. You meet me in the kitchen and apologize. My back is to you and pressed against me we're like peanut butter and jelly. I don't like peanut butter. I'll be jelly. Want to be peanut butter? I chug water like it's going out of style. It's a distraction from you. You disturb me in a good way and I want more. The music is louder in here and the ambiance is gone. It's just harsh now. I want to feel good again so I go back to the couch, ignoring the fact that I'm your leaning post. You fall into the sink and laugh your ass off. I love your laugh. I feel on top of the world for making you laugh. I feel my body becoming a solid again and you're off to the bathroom. You broke the seal. Stupid tampon. I laugh again only really hard this time because you as a tampon is really funny. You as peanut butter isn't so funny. Because I'm your jelly. We are nothing to laugh at. Maybe we'll make babies and they'll be the combined peanut butter and jelly from the jar. I love peanut butter and jelly. I'm pretty sure I'm in love you. Yeah, that sounds nice. Just like I'm in love with the sand between my toes and good music. Sitting next to me on the couch again, you seem different. Not like twenty minutes ago. You tell me that I should leave when I don't feel so tipsy because you have work to do. Fuck. My heart sinks a bit because being next to you is the best pleasure I know. You sit away from me now, our thighs aren't stuck together anymore. I don't feel like peanut butter and jelly right now. That's okay. I never really liked peanut butter all that much anyway.