its a funny feeling;
or lack thereof
when you finally realize

you don't care,
you don't give a shit
nor does anyone else

and yet,
you feel as though
you maybe should

so you act.
you pretend to be someone
who you know isn't real

a fake person.
in a pretend body
being who they aren't

only because,
the pressures get to you
with everyone else pretending too

you change,
feel like its normal
to hide who you really are

someone who:
really doesn't care
truthfully doesn't give a shit

Hey brother can you spare a buck
I wouldn't give a fuck
But you see I'm down to my last cigarette
Now I ain't got no legs
And I don't give a damn
Lost them in Afghanistan
And Uncle Sam....he don't give a damn
One way or the other
But that's the way my luck
Has  always ran
Hey Brother can you spare a buck
I'm down to my last cigarette
And that's all I give a shit about
You can walk on by
You can turn your eyes
It won't make me cry
I've fought stronger men than you
But hey Brother can you spare a buck
I'd like some more smokes
To get me through
Hey Brother nice shoes
Got a cigarette?

11.11pm
i cannot explain
how i am feeling
for i have no reason
and no medical condition

12.01am
i saw the way
the shit of the world
consumed you
and left you dry

1.33am
in saying that my scars
looked beautiful
you had no idea
that it made me bleed
to please you

4.56am
tonight i am feeling more alone
and this is why i am finding myself
crying on your bathroom floor
tears mixing with blood and betrayal

6.00am
the only thing i have left
is my courage
and my strength

Elbows propped on tabletops,
we roll out our worlds, like a red carpet,
across the surface between us.
Mapping out our weeks
we speak in riddles
only able to be understood by
present company and others with
an acute appreciation for the absurd.

Round 1
We begin by bouncing pleasantries
mingled with snark and
littered with nonsense stories
across the space where our scotch glasses
drain lazily between us.

Round 2
Brings with it a new tone-
we begin to slip into hypotheticals
and start the dangerous
and all too familiar process of
looking over our own shoulders.
The past seems to sneak
into the pauses and reminiscing starts
to seem too surreal to be appealing.

Round 3
And we are forced to keep reluctant company
with the regret that now speckles the tabletop in front of me.
Our eyes retreat from each other
as our  mouths start forming
around our greatest inadequacies.
Fear of the future,
we're petrified by the present.
We are forgetting how to be hesitant
as coping mechanics drift and split.

Round 4
Shit starts to get real.
You try to be ambivalent.
And I just get angry.

Round 5
I am entertaining the possibility
of weeping publically.
(It's an unfortunate emotional default setting)

Round 6
We find our way back
to the familiar.
Accessing the damage
we joke to save face
while working to wind the loose ends
back together again
to stash them from where they came.
(But nothing ever fits back into its box as easily after its been unpacked)

Each week we try to be
each other's comfort zone
to crawl inside
to rest awhile.
But tonight we're too exhausted
and too self-absorbed
and too similar to get it right.
We'll try again next week,
on the next high-top next Wednesday night.

So you're saying you're proud and
Grateful to have so much freedom, opportunity, wealth
Well, I'm not.
Sociocentrism is an ugly, unnatural state
Everything we have takes away from someone else
We try to pretend there's no connection, that the plight of others is cause by their own failing
That we are deserving
Convinced that this is all here for us
We take and take and take
But every terror we inflict on anything "else" is a terror upon the self
We protect our so called civil liberties with wage slavery, chemical abuse, and ecological terrorism
Profit baby, profit über ales
Well congratulations to us
This is nationalism at its finest
No, I'm not fucking proud of it
If you want to take credit, be my guest
Just ask India about policies of profit over regulations, about denim and dye and death
Ask Mexico about farming, their take on the "Fair Trade Act"
Ask the rainforest if it remembers what it was like to have trees
Try to find an Arawak to ask anything
Ask 63 countries what it feels like to have a US military base keeping watch
And what would happen if another country tried to build a base on this soil
Or maybe ask why you never learned shit about any other country
Much less about your own
Back in History class
Survival of the fittest, you say?
A dog eat dog world?
Alright, let's play
This country is overrun by dogs, that's true
But honey, we're not eating any other dogs
We're eating poison and calling it food
While our leaders give Monsanto handjobs under the table
We are "the world's leading nation" and we're dropping like flies
No, not dead
Just into hospital beds and prison cells
Our country is filled with poverty, racism, violence, and terror
Not to mention obesity heart disease depression anxiety and PTSD
We're over-medicated malnourished and spiritually starved
We're pissed off at a whole lot of bullshit
That means nothing in the scheme of anything
Fully engaged in the myth of a two-party system
Even though most of what we see and hear is merely distraction
Thank you, media, all 6 of you big beautiful monoliths
I'm so lucky I have the opportunity to be informed!
We're a nation divided by details
While our leaders run in circles pouting fat fingers at each other
Engrossed in this thing we call "politics"
Highly effective
I'm really glad you're proud
They say ignorance is bliss
But I think it's more like a shiny polyester suit
Holding together a parasite infested mess
Sitting in a recliner after a hard days work of trying to stay afloat on a mountain of debt in a drowning economy
Bottles of medication on the table, GMOs in the fridge
Quietly doing what they're told
Never wondering why
Falling asleep to the glow of the TV whispering fear and terror, us and them, buy and buy and buy
The sweet purr of "freedom"

Was walking in a street one day
Nowhere to go, no one I knew
Heading to the unknown world
Hoping for nothing,
zero  expectation ,
infinity life,
My head was empty
My heart sang a lonely song
I became a beggar not by choice
Lost everything in a stupid bet
Ended up in a lonely street...
Friends became enemies
Relatives deserted me
My wife changed her surname
My kids told friends their dad was dead
My thirst , my hunger was haunting me
and starvation killed my sleep
Sky was home, bus stop was bed...
Damned hungry... damned tired
Should I call Pizza Hut delivery?
checked my pocket...
hoping for a dollar or two
Shit! There was a big hole in my pocket!
What choice did I have now?
They all said " Beggars can't choose."

The shit squelches underneath
fingertips, whose only barrier
is plushly folded paper.
Clench, release, dispose,
rinse, and flush away
the human
oh so human.