How do you control?

I control by running away. I control by shrinking inside and waiting there until I think you’re gone. I control by throwing potent words around, fixing a wall between us, sometimes comprised of overzealous fantasies, sometimes of toxic sludge. I control by making you the enemy and making you stupid. I control by thinking I know best. I control by imagining I can impose my will on you.

Believing I have control is so quaint, so naïve, so childlike.

How do you lose control?

I lose control by dissolving into slushy, spillovers of lust. I lose control in another glass and another, and one more, and just one more and puff, puff, fuzz. I lose control on a street between two bumpers at 5am while you fuck me — were there passersby? I lose control when I focus on you and only you, letting my brain whip around your qualities, dissolve in their salty pools, figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out figure you out.

Believing I lost control is believing I’ll wake up with it all back, everything intact, all figured out.

How do you heal?

I heal by letting myself grow. I heal by focusing on my growth alone.

And in this I do believe.