there's two bottles of wine and half a six pack of beer in the fridge. there's an infinite universe of hardcore pornography one click of the finger away. there's two valiums left and a big bathtub. there's a lot of empty space that doesn't need to be filled, but it's accustomed to overflowing the way a hoarder's house explodes with useless distractions.
instead there's a head on collision with my greatest enemy.
he stalks up and down the corridor and back and forth across the cat-stained rug. he could study more, or write a song, or play piano. or he could keep binge-watching a tv show that has already made him cry more times this evening than he has since he last got drunk. that was at his niece's seventh birthday party, and he got so shitfaced that he broke down as his stepdad sang elvis to his mother on the makeshift karaoke stage. i can't help falling in love with you. then he vomited in the car and spent two days with a fever and stomach cramps as he sweated out a lifetime of bullshit.
i can't help falling in love with you.
it's time i fell in love with him instead, as there's nobody else in this big empty space. and the choice between netflix and chilling with him instead of murdering him with wine, valium and porn, is the best choice between two bad choices.
it could always be a choice between kill or be killed, but we're not quite there yet.
he could always harden the fuck up and write something on the piano.