An old story that was amended, entitled "Pleased as Punch".

It's more or less a wave right now.
I don't always see it through. I neglect it as often as I allow it to take me where it wants. Use me as it wishes.
It is a feeling. Almost a state of mind.
I want something great. Something grand.
I want the world.
I want to be injured. I want to bleed. More than anything I want to bleed. To be cold and pale.
I need a bruise or an abrasion. I want to be spent from hours of struggle. To be sore and sweaty.
I wish that my hands hurt. Covered in gauze. From a fire.
Maybe if I was burned I wouldn't have to think about ever finding someone that would want me for the reasons I want to be wanted.
My face would be scarred. And I could blame it on my face.
I would be one pitiful looking idiot because of my burned face.
I could be openly miserable. And for good reason too.
Maybe I would need a skin graft. And a blood transfusion.
Burn victims lose alot of blood believe it or not. A bunch. So I would get one, or two maybe.
Face wrapped in gauze, oozing. Weeks. Months. Little progress. Everyone has moved on.
The helium from the get well balloons long ago dissipated leaving mylar in piles near the head of the bed. The flowers are faded.  Everyone has taken off as much work as they can, and I'm not doing much better. It's been too long.
The balloons on the floor are depressing. I wish the nurse would throw them away. They're depressing all hell out of me. If I could stay awake long enough to tell her I would.
I want more than anything for those balloons to be gone.
I'm nothing but a deflated helium balloon.
I am a silver mylar grocery store get well worthless balloon.
I cost two dollars and thirteen cents and people know that I care about them for three or four days until the helium is gone. Then I'm piled on the floor at the head of the bed depressing the hell out of myself. And anyone that comes in for that matter. To look at their faces you'd think I were dead.
I've tried to pray for the past couple of nights. It's like that guy in college that knew you really well but you didn't know him all that great. You could never remember his name for the thirtieth time and it was the most embarrassing thing ever. You were totally supposed to know his name by now, no excuse, but you didn't. Not to save your life. Not for a million bucks. You dreaded seeing him 'cause it would be awkward as anything, you not knowing his name and all.
So that's what it was like praying. I didn't want to give up on it though. I didn't know him well but I knew enough to know that he was my only shot. He was my shot. The balloons were in the floor but he was at my bedside.
All my life I wanted to be loved by a woman. I wanted to be the perfect complement to someone. I would give all my love away for the hint of sincerety in a woman. For a woman to hold. To smile with. More than anything this consumed me. To be truly and utterly loved, to be placed above any other. To be prefered.
But now, all is gone. The balloons are in the corner and the air smells clinical. I am bedridden with one guest who is always staying past normal visiting hours.  And I can't recall his name.
So far as I can tell he's not much for conversation. Which is a good thing 'cause I don't much feel like talking anymore.
I can't believe he's still here. It's been months, it really has. They took the bandages off a couple of days ago and I'm the scariest man you've ever seen, ugly as hell. He didn't flinch though, like he didn't even notice. I cried my eyes out, for days. But he'd just rub my hand and grin like he didn't get what all the fuss was about. I'm glad too. I'd a jumped out the window if he'd made a face or even whinced a little when they pulled back the gauze.
I used to have a lot. All my ducks were in a row. Now I don't even have two ducks to put in a row. All I have is that old man with the big hands in that chair at the foot of my bed. I don't know why he's still there either. If he knew better he wouldn't. I'm the most arrogant person on planet earth is all. Not worth a dime. I'd sell him out for a glass of water if I was thirsty.
He still sits there though. He'll grin and he cries every now and again. Not a sad cry or a hurt cry but a satisfied cry. Like he's just found the greatest thing ever. I'm glad and all but it's confusing as anything. Really, I'm the ugliest thing you've ever seen, I don't even want to think about leaving this room. But he's not phased. Pleased as punch that I'd let him sit there. I'll tell you what though, I'd be some sort of basket case if he wasn't.
He's all I've got.
Nothing makes sense.
I have him, rather he has me, but I would settle for so much less.
To just be held.
I've sold myself.
I've burned myself.
To be held, for five minutes, five seconds even.
To be known and loved and held for five seconds.
I am so very basic. From the feast that has been offered I've eaten toast and jam thus far.
It's kept me alive but altogether unsatisfied.
And there is no one to blame.