Monday and I am exhausted...

I see my arms wrapping around her, strangely refusing to stop. I don't love her, I know that, but I need her. Maybe not her so much, but something in her being -- strength, compassion, love, warmth -- something I lack. I know, even as I am doing it, that this will destroy her, but I don't care, I have needs, wants, desires, and she has the ability to temporarily fill the void. Does this make me a bad person -- probably. People forget that about me -- my lack of a heart. I feel deeply. I cry often. I hurt constantly. But none of those are to be confused with a heart. I have left nothing but carnage in my wake since I was a child, and have no intention of changing my ways. I am good at it. Awkwardly, I miss people. I long for the failed, the impossible, and the destructive. The chaos is my curse. I realize in my advanced age that my words are my sword, my emptiness the shield, beauty and free time my enemy. I watch those around me fall and I applaud their failure, it lowers the bar, and I can once again slide safely below the radar, left to my selfishly degenerative ways.