Demons are born in
the venn diagrams of who
you are vs. who
you want to be.

Eclipsing the hell
portals is the only way
to seal the gate to
mental illness.

the only way to
lasso your planetary
pie charts is to self
actualize.

(W = Anonymous Elderly Woman With Sudden and Severe Dementia)
---

W:

"I was an evil little girl".
I used to stick my tongue out at little boys. They would say,

"SHE STUCK HER TONGUE OUT AT ME".
Then the teachers would always say,

"Young man, she is a respectable young lady and has done no such thing".
So I'd put my thumb to my nose and make faces as they sat".

"My grandmother always raised us to be "GOOOD" "GOOOD" and I was goood.
It was so boring.
They used to get so frustrated with me".

"I was so proud of my father.
Everywhere he went he had to fix people.
He changed things
nomatter where he'd go. He always said

"I CAN MAKE IT BETTER FOR THEM.
IT CAN BE BETER".
He never loved me. Didn't have time. I should call him.
I want to call my father"


Me:

"Did he ever self-actualize and realize that he was making their lives /his version/ of better? Before he died, did he realize maybe what he thought was better wasn't better for everyone?"


W:

"No.
He was a tsunami that changed everything he touched. We girls
respected him.

Listen to me, hah.
talking about such things, on a toilet.
I have no dignity left.
We have to laugh.
Am I crazy?

Me:

"You're no more crazy than I am.
Who wants to be sane? That's no fun".

W:

"That's right!
If you can't laugh,
you die".

Me:

"Earlier, to describe yourself
as a child, you said
you were "Evil".
Do you beleive that part of the reason you were so "evil"
was because you were beautiful?
And you knew it?".




W:

She paused for a moment and pursed her lips in contemplation.
...

"Yes."

The woman nods a slow turtles nod, with both eyes shut and squinting and a pouted mouth.
Her puckered lips fade into a smile.

"Yes, absolutely It was".

Provoked to put some sort of thick concrete in my mouth.
All my teeth are now stuck together
as I tongue around to try and pick the glue off.
they teeter and totter on their last gum strings.
heavier now due to the concrete.
In My dream A girl says: "I know I am a sewing machine."
When I wake up, I realize she meant Piano.

I dreamed the man who glued my teeth together
looked like Biff from back to the future.
and was my brother.
and was an *******.
When I woke up
I had to Google "bully from Back to the future"
so i could write it in this poem.
because I forgot his name.
I'm bad at names.

I dreamt not having the money to go to the dentist.
also Not having time to go see the dentist.
I didn't have to dream very hard.
I'm really broke right now.

My teeth go numb and pop off their strings.
my gums are stacked cubes of honey combs
They too fall out one by one
like single falling Tetris pieces

Girl says: "What would I do If I couldn't sew?"
"I'd be nothing!"
In the dream, She still hasn't realized she's a piano
I think: "What would I do if i couldn't sing?
Couldn't Write.
Breathe."

One day I knew exactly what it was like not to breathe.
a few times, I knew exactly what it was like not to sing too.

This dream felt a lot like that.

I dreamt the life of a liquid diet.
Denchers sitting in off-yellow sanitizing containers on a porcelain sink
This other older woman, who is clearly supposed to represent my mother.
looks at me with "I told you so, Eyes"
I think she's here so I can't find any comfort in my dream.
She knows this has to be a nightmare.
If I see my real mother, I'll get some comfort.
so instead I see this slum queen who looks down and says:
"go to bed sweetie, we'll call the doctor in the morning."
as flies buzz around her filthy Hutt body
as I catch my last block of honey comb gum from my mouth.
My teeth spill, Tumbling out of my hands.

I woke up in the middle of the night terrified
Feeling at my gums.
Because Biff snuck concrete into my mouth as I was sleeping.
When my eyes opened, I reached for pen and paper.
As I wrote down my dream
My First thought was: she wouldn't be a sewing machine, she'd be a piano.

Even though I was alone.
You were my first Thought.
I didn't even notice if I had any teeth.

The doctor Told Her She couldn't play an instrument for awhile.
She sent a picture doing it anyway.
because it made her happy.
see, in the real world, She knew she was a Piano.
I wonder if she had nightmares of teeth falling out
Of keys falling from a piano one by one
Ivory rectangles plunking,
Tap
against the black and white checkered tile floor of a diner.
Where we share The worlds scariest Beautiful nightmare: Life.

We get brunch
There are Pancakes
scrambled eggs.
I told-you-so's
Going to the doctor
being fairly broke.
Waking up terrified
but always with each other.
whether we're really there or not.
Playing a piano that's missing a few teeth.
Even though the doctor said not too
Even though it doesn't sound so good anymore with the missing notes.
Playing because it makes us happy to run our fingers over the old ivory.

this is a world we don't visit.
whenever we think about it our teeth fall out.
Funny, I started writing about a nightmare
How you turned it into a poem.

The field is covered in bright green grass that He,
The baby dragon nibbles on.
I'm allergic to grass but I like watching him eat it.
know it fills him up.
The blades start rustling and we hear a train.
The sky gets bright forming a giant mushroom
I should hide in my brick shelter but he,
The baby dragon gets off on the danger of it all.
I am advised to just stand by.
Wait for the sky to clear
When the billow clouds pass
He'll be standing there.
Charred, Alive, Stumbling towards me.
I can catch him
Bandage his wings.

So I wait.
But while I'm blinded by these radiation fueled lights
I cry, and scream
Completely useless.
He flies off
waves of radiation singe past me.
Face Burning.
Skin Boiling.
I call "Dragon!"
"Baby Dragon!"
But he never answers.
Too busy getting lost in the wasteland.
Soaking in the radiation.
Loves the way it burns.
So I just sink
crawl towards what I think is his
Cold, mutated, dead body.
left behind by the whirring storm of the end.
And I rip it's wings off
Crying and screaming
Snot pouring down my face
Dust storm lashing cross my back
Red gashes against the
Glowing bright green sky
Loud muted sandy horror

Until It stops.
Goes quiet.
When I wake up.
The grass is gone.
He is standing there.
Baby dragon.
Not Scarred. Not Tired.
But stumbling forward into my arms.
His wings full of pride, glowing
Wrap around us and hug tight.
"I missed you." He says
"I love you". He says
I was the one charred, boiled.
But the baby dragon mends my blisters.
Rubs my head
whispers my name.
we count the seconds together.
Before the train noises start again.

For the low low price of just being within' earshot,
the conversation analyst will run a full diagnostic on your conversation.

You know how that perfect comeback
feels, three weeks after
You didn't say it?

In training, representatives for Inbound sales listen to recordings of their own phone calls and critique them like Art majors in a studio class.

Our conversation analyst.
Looks at you like a shoe on the wall.

Unlike the psychology major,  the conversation analyst will never share his results.

He'll just judge you.
Silently.

He doesn't speak.
His fourth grade english teacher taught him that the carpenters house is never finished.
She was referring to her husband, the carpenter, not finishing the renovations on their new home, but the conversation analyst heard it as a metaphor, and adopted it as a universal truth.

Much like a painting controls the path your eye travels the canvas, or the scientific process that goes into composing music,
the way you build rapport is one of those things that people don't realize can be an art form until they wittness it professionally.

Our conversation analyst considers himself  Socio-passionate.

Which amuses him, when he deducts points from your conversation for not empathizing correctly.
Or not giving effective compliments by asking a relevant question afterwards.

The conversation analyst is not always mute. On special occasions such as first impressions he is a fine conversationalist.

You can meet the conversation analyst for the first time, as many times as you want.

If the carpenters house is never finished.
The conversation analyst
exemplar at listening,
Will never hear you.

"if your personality was a beverage,
what beverage would it be?"

She said: "I think I'd be Coffee"

"No,
You can't be coffee."

You're too sweet
Cheap, With two shots of vanilla

COFFEE is bold, smokey,
Burns your throat.

I had coffee once,
Brandy

Woke up to her every morning,
For years I got drunk off of her
When I didn't drink enough water
She made me sick.
but I never drank water
Went down the hall
to a sippy cup full of milk.

Even she,
was not just milk.
She was strawberry milk.
My little Coffee milk.

You are not Coffee.
You are water.

But soak up all my grounds
***** yourself on the dead burnt cherries
I've left for you.

Maybe
you can be some quick
instant version.

Submissions to the Annual Musical Torture Experiment for 2017 are officially open!

Submit your five songs by emailing them to
TorturePlaylist@gmail.com

"BUT WHAT IS THE MUSICAL TORTURE EXPERIMENT NICK?"

Well me, I'm glad you asked.
The Musical Torture Experiment was started in 2013 by yours truely, Nicholas R Coulombe.
Where I asked everyone I knew, met, or saw on the street, to hand me 5 songs that I would add to one playlist,
listen to that playlist on a loop
AND NO OTHER MUSIC
for an entire month.

I have continued this tradition each year
recruiting Willing victims & voulenteers
to listen along with me.

These victims have many different lives, interests, and genre preferences,
but there is one thing they all have in common.

The blissfull escapism of living in their headphones.

This gaggle of Tune-heads who use their music as a fundamental life resource, a coping mechanism, an escapist fantasy or meditation.
These people offer their body and spirit to music.

Now, for a whole month, they are relinquishing control of their music.

Shotgun no longer shuts their piehole.

For an entire month.
Listeners will not be able to skip or select any music other than
YOUR SUBMISSIONS!

This is the perfect opportunity to force someone to really find whats so amazing about those artists we culturally hate.
Or maybe theirs an oldy that your grandkids Refuse to consider music because there is static or twangy voices instead of bass drops.

Maybe you talk about your love of skrillex and a hipster spits their kombucha in your face.

If you have songs that DESERVE the light of day.
This is your chance to indulge in their exhibition.

want to voulenteer yourself as tribute to listen along with these crazy *******?
keep tabs on what is being added cause you think its kinda interesting?
Or contribute YOUR five songs?

Just
Send an email to TorturePlaylist@gmail.com
by the end of August to participate!

Go check out the playlist itself here:

https://open.spotify.com/user/124409443/playlist/2TAdzDUKx7sfW1uJrqMS7K

Underneath millions of tiny spotlights we unearth our darkest secrets.
Tip toe unbound into the lake
White Freckled like a deer.
Her hips flirting just above the water.
Arms stretched up towards the moon.

She says:
"When the lunchbell rings
They lurk out of their door frames
Stretch their bones at the staff and moan
Like a horde of sorry forgotten ghosts.
Lingering in limbo.
Songs of unpet ownerless dogs
Waiting for anyone to come adopt them, rather than just be fed.

"I've known you for three hours and you're already fixing my mistakes." I say
When the advertisement for my call center plays in their REC hall
I promise my vitimans will make their children visit twice a week.
make them young and healthy.
And when they pay me my commission and it doesn't work.
You get to patch up the scars
no pill can heal.

She's sick of the suffering
Can't stand watering their caskets

Galaxias is greek for milky
Your skin is Galaxias
It is the root word of galaxy
I drink milk because it tastes like space

Twentieth-century american theoretical physicist john archibald wheeler summed up einstein's general theory of reletivity as, "matter tells space how to curve; space tells matter how to move".

I guess you are space
and I am matter.
I tell you how to curve
and you tell me how to move on.

N: "No...
wait,
is a bank account,
the baggy underneath my mattress?
'cause that has an old sandwich in it."

M: "No,
a bank account is
where you put your money in a thing,
and people watch the thing,
and you gain interest at a really, really,
really slow rate."

N: "So what you're saying,
is a bank is a
*******.
I put my money in her,
and at a really, really,
really slow rate
I get interested in her
and people watch her,
with my money.

A bank is a *******.
I think I get it.

Yes,
I have one of those."

She finds the brightest star
Traces it's dotted lines
Grasping constellations yet to be
Longed after,
Naming them.

The Cigarette
Prayed too by the star captain,
Suave, compelling, proud.
Held close by the Escapist.
The comfort of the same circle of pain
with different faces,
friends wherever there's fire.

The Bottle
Held onto tightly when the chips are down
Rocking back and fourth, homeless
Good friend of the shopping cart
Of the Molotov cocktail burning bridges
Of the 2am revelry of loud sticky benches
Orange caution tape bump for consent

The Pacifier
A purse token for the forgotten children
Necklace neon green pink pigtails
The purest form of oral fixation.
Mother of the cigarette
Designed to cut words and part lips
Only comfort to give in return

My eyes have no whites.
My age, gave me stale white sheets
White light, black curtains.

If you really want me
to waste your time with my superficial sense of adventure

developed over 20 years as the
perfect formula for fun, alright.
I promise you'll see right through it.

You'll realize in a second that all we really need
is whiskey
Netflix
That all these road trips
cigarettes
rooftops mean nothing
give us nothing.
On a regular basis I'd walk in on you cuddling reptiles that litterally can't have any compassion for you.
isn't it just like you to have
compassion for
something that
can't
love
you
back.

I'm not the charecature you deserve

I'm not jacked or covered in ink.
My battlescars aren't from poverty or violence, or consequences of just generally being a bad person.

My "battle scars" are all from loving too much.
I'm so naive that I think they're just as awful as anybody elses.

You won't love me.
Don't get me wrong
If you were truly interested
I'd show up wearing
a box of chocolates in my hands
and not much else.

You are a goddess.
have absolutely no reason to be looking up to me.
I am not that interesting.
It's all a game.
you've been alive long enough to know
the game is *******.

I'm flattered by your peaked interest, willing
to give you the night of your life.
Something tells me you want more than just flashy lights on blank canvas

You want stardust.
Yes, I'll look at the sky with you.
So you might find what you really want.

Told at age 18 she's gonna go blind at 26
Wrote it down in her notebook
Tucked it away in a junk drawer
full of glass eyes
one for every outfit
pearl for the wedding
Ebony for Halloween
Nine to five on Saturday
She rents out the left socket to local businesses
sold that part of herself to make a quick buck.
Quickie
Quickly get his fix
sting
Won't feel him in the morning.
doesn't feel anything anymore
Epidural
Gave her spine away too
replaced it for a zipper to better access her marionette ribcage
thought she could cut out the strings
left a scar so big it needed more then buttons and thread
goes by cupcake
puts her frosting on every morning
has to taste sweet
boys like the red dye
dripped into batter
battered
almost without notice.
Nobody will notice
when it goes off
comes out
Red dye blood splotch
the epidural
won't feel anything
doesn't feel anything anymore
sting
a part she can't even feel
the wedding dress she still hasn't picked up
or canceled
paid for
By renting out space.
white with ebony lace
beautiful pearl jewelry
like glass eyes
drawers full of glass eyes
she plucked out so she didn't have to look
watch it grow
the hospital didn't reimburse her for this feeling
they didn't warn her about the ticking clock
screaming mothers
mirage houses with white picket fences
only barren desert wastelands
tumbleweeds taunt her in the worst of nightmares
Screaming churn crying soft
Cribs and cages
Marbles clinked as she pulled out the junk drawer
rolled past the frosting colored pistol
around a notebook
the notebook she wrote every picture she didn't want to see anymore down in.
the notebook she picked up first.

"Why did
you let that
man cut?"

"Because your
mother is a
good person."

No, seriously
it's ether this or Oatmeal you guys.

I let the old pain fester.
Like a wound that hasn't been cleaned out.
Take a swig from my whiskey bottle
turn my back to the nearest ***** man.
As he ***** me silent
I am porcelain.

Tonight, i'm prey
Let somebody make me uneasy
So that I may live in
Mismatch colored socks.
Mini skirts, yoga pants,

This man is ******* me numb.
Past life blackout
He Certainly won't retain any sort of name.
I pretend his fingertips are mine.
That his body is plastic.
walls like siliphane body bags
To hoist me from this whirlwind nightmare.
I should have said No.
instead I said just **** and **** me.
So It continued until I felt like being a corpse was a better alternative to my numbness.
Hoped for a burning.
Or a lynch in the knuckle bones of a crossdressed Reaper.
Won't dwell on tonight.
Put a smelly blanket over this new pain
Remember the familiar stuff.
It's older.
knows I want to forget.

You were born bone
I became tattoo
flesh tethered your scaffolding
Under my beautiful scars

Thin paint, Stinging red
Constellations of wings
Left them with fingernails
Your soft shoulderblades
snug under pale skin

A bit lip tease soft blonde hairs one by one
Down tips underneath
the divet in your neck.
I admire the canvas of your spine back to me, all red wing stinging.
Ready to fly off
Moving thigh and held
Shifting maroon blankets.
My mouth smirks
Attempts to hide how desperate
To taste it is.

Sweet bird. Sweet angel.
Awake all night
With a tattoo of an arrow
And her hand
Pressed to her forehead.

A glass of water.
Towel held like a childs blanket.
Still white.
Even used, it is still fresh linen smell.
We are still fresh linen smell.
Your hipbones agree.
My thumbs asked them.

I kiss your feathers gentle and let them burn softly as I trail down.

Your whimpers send me skyward.
Lighter headed now
Tight cheeked.

More rustled blanket
Your thigh dances over hipbones.
I feel the tethers between bone and canvas
Scar and silk.
Warm in these wings
Stars in this constellation.

Whiskers is a word that changes 
after love making with a man
Hands that hold, not touch
Scratchy lips, hands on my hips.
Whiskers, like the warmest blanket,
the safest harness, keep me honest.

If I have this with a woman,
she would make me godless.
Venom gets me off a tingle, 
like fanning singles at a stage
It proxies my craving,
drains my savings.

Whiskers can't be heard the same.
I meet a man.
He hungers for my frame.
Drinks me like a bottle
from the top shelf.
He had me on the rocks.

I'm not used to bodies
that aren't soft.
Show me hands that
touch, rough with callouses
I'm learning. I'm still teething
I'm seeing. Fire flickers in my belly.

Men feel different.
I like it. He's safe.
I'm empty. I stop bleeding
for blank canvases.
He holds me on his shoulders like Atlas.
I needed a foundation.

Instead of chasing strangers
I'm being taken by a man
who knows the finer flavors.
This is the way
I'm meant to be.
I can taste it.

"You are both better off without me.
Towards the end, Mommy realized it,
She just didn't want to hurt you."

Her name was Luna.

The only people who saw her face was her mother and I.

You could say she didn't exist. But we Knew better.

We tried for two years to help her meet her sister.

But every time we thought we'd made a connection something intercepted the call.

she scared us a couple times.
Made us love each other a few other times.
And in the end, we never got to hold her.

I guess we never should have named her.
But when you love something that much. It's hard not to dream about it.

she was the best parts of both of us.
Her mothers beauty, her fathers heart.
I'm not saying I regret trying.
I know how happy she would of made us.
But Something out there knew that Luna was better off as a distant memory.

I'll never forget the day
Luna spoke to me.

"Welcome to the future"

reliable rocket ship trade routes, for any rich man.
Flying cars made with science that everyone pretends the myth-busters didn't invent first.
Dead rap stars and anime girls performing,
live on stage with smoke and mirrors
and a government that redefines the word Live,
and operates on smoke and mirrors

"Welcome to the future"

There is a company developing brain chips
so you can watch me climb this mountain,
just synch up with my vision
Also, while you're in my head
check out these commercials I'm hearing from the drone propaganda radios
Feel how this rock feels, synthetic and stamped with advertisements
smell what I'm smelling,
the propane, the soot.

You think this sounds crazy?
There's a little magic rectangle in your pocket.
to Record and send audio, take a photo,
we are halfway
we're just making every science fiction dream a reality

"we're so ******"

What's gonna happen when the world
runs out of dreams to make true?
marty mc-fly got his self strapping shoes, and also we got heelys
and sometimes we got self strapping heelies that glew in the dark
these things are ancient technology now
but we aren't far from the delorian

...or a nuclear apocalypse.

We have flying cars!
when we get flying houses, islands,
cities
when we populate mars
when we umbilicord ourselves to technological advances
hack, splice,
stich in memory chips, nerolinks
Who's gonna come up with the new dreams?

Who's gonna pen the next future
when everyone has seen the jetsons
outside their window.

Bring me the most creative,
innovative minds,
Untouched by the rhetoric
Who will be our new gods?
Will it be the artists?

No,
Bring me the Children.

"Welcome to the playground"

Words of aspiration graffitied on trump tower
Kaiju stuffed bears with saddles transporting business suit toddlers to their desks
where they draw, and draw, and draw
Mechanical dinosuars replacing trains.
Shutes and ladders everywhere
We will put our faith in mommy
and she will be beautiful
just like me.
we will pray to mother
she will rain affection
guide the pint sized diaper academy
while the adults sit in sensory boothes,
occulus rift 99.5.0 on their heads
feeding tube, cathader, an ash tray of tiny blue pills.
a small child hired to wipe their *** once in awhile,
for minimum wage
Which now is $200 an hour,
they still can't get health care
the lowest plan offers crayon insurance
that they can't use until they are promoted to artist

So they pray and pray to their mother religion
but mother doesn't exist here.

only birth robot
only television parasite
only plugged in queens and worker boys

we have the responsibility
to mold these tiny minds
if we **** up, remember
the fate of the world
was never in our hands
it was in very tiny hands
with pencils in them

"Welcome to the future"
"Welcome to the future"
"welcome to the future"

Dolly, you know Fluffy can't play with you.

you're my dolly.

Fluffy stop looking at her like that.

Fluffy, let me sing you a song
so you understand.

This is my dolly
You can't have it
This is my dolly
And *******

this is my dolly
You can't have it
This is my dolly and
*******

this is my dolly
you can't have it
this is my dolly and
*******.

*Stomp stomp stomp *
"DOLLY?!
What do I hear you singing?"

Nothing Daddy!

"If that is what Nothing sounds like.
You will be loud for the rest of your life
Do you understand?"

Yes daddy.

"I don't wanna hear nothin' ever again.
Did your mother teach you that?"

Yes daddy.
Mommy sings it sometimes
turns the shower on so we can't hear her crying
But the way her voice cracks
I can tell.

...





"...Body.
It's body Princess... not dolly."

"This is my body
You can't have it
This is my body and

Well maybe that last line...
...that one's for me."

"Your mommy taught me the words last night.
it was about time I learned them too.

funny, we both make the same mistake."

no suzie, you can't sit next to Thumper.
you're my dolly. You sit where I want you to.

look at those fluffy ears
I don't trust 'em suzie.
he's a creep

Thumper stop looking at her like that.

Thumper, let me sing you a song
so you understand.

This is my dolly
You can't have it
This is my dolly
And *******

this is my dolly
You can't have it
This is my dolly and
*******

this is my dolly
you can't have it
this is my dolly and
*******.

*Stomp stomp stomp *
"What are you singing?"

Nothing Daddy!

"If that is what Nothing sounds like.
You will sing for the rest of your life loudly,
Do you understand me?"

yes daddy.

"I don't wanna hear nothin' ever again.
where did you learn that song?"

Mommy sang it
last night
turned the shower on
she thinks I can't hear
if the waters running
it doesn't work though,
the way her voice cracks
when she sings
I can tell shes crying.

"Oh...
princess...

you misheard...

last night,
mommy sang:

This is my body
You can't have it
This is my body and

Well that last line...

...that wasn't singing

Daddy just desereved that.

You know, it's funny.

you and I...

...we got the same word wrong."

How like my father
To turn to religion
Like an heirloom
One of the two things he left me
Faith, and
Cologne

Knows how to dress you.
He knows how to undress you,
with a seem ripper.

Glass trees

Princess pajamas, tippy toes,
an ice scientist smiled from her window.
"You are beautiful" she whispered
I watched silently from the doorway.

The ice scientist kissed her friends goodnight,
Then giggled at her sloppy lipstick stain.
soon, a flurry of more kisses painted the window.
I let out a chuckle.
This jumped  the ice scientist.

"Poophead Dada" she glared at me
Through a face of lipstick kiss smears
"I love you, too" I knelt
took wet cloth to her face.

"Dada?"
"Yes, Poophead?"
"What temperature does love freeze?"
We stared at each other.
Her blue eyes sparkled with a single blink.
I did not expect this question.
nor did I expect,
the extent to which
we would find the answer.

4/20/17

This is a public service announcement.
Attention
There are cockroaches in the walls of your body
Mold in the ceilings of your eyelids
You cry so often they can't dry out.
We paint over them with makeup
we have no idea why
we think paint
will fix your roof
There's still mold
There are still cockroaches
in the walls of your body.
We called them butterflies to be cutesy
it's time we told you
they are cockroaches.
In this familiar metaphor
where you are a grand hotel.
You were actually an AirBnB
Someone decided one day:
"AHH **** it.
We can open our house
to strangers
for a quick buck.
What's the worst that can happen?
They rob us?
HAH!
what are they gonna take?
We got nothin'"
then you did.
And they did.
they smelt bad
brought their girlfriend
and ****** in your guest bedroom

I mean it was your den,
with a sleeping bag
But they ****** in there!
In YOUR sleeping back
And stole your coffee maker!
YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE
A COFFEE MAKER
BEFORE YOU STARTED BEING
A HOTEL
you bought that ******* coffee maker
for airbnb guests
and now look at you.
Spent more on ammenaties
then you made.

Should have gone to walmart
but no
you had to "buy local"

Yes
we are still talking about your body
And cockroaches.
That ******* tennant brought cockroaches
You don't know how
but he was from new york
so it was totaly his fault.

now you need to hire pest control

BUT WHO IN THE HELL
CAN CONTROL THE PESTS
IN YOUR GODAMNED BODY

Not you.
You buy local.
These hippies don't use pesticides
thats their whole shtick.
You gotta use dirt and pray.

So you do.
You open up the wounds they left
Or you found
Or made last night

And you shove dirt in them.

And I'll be ******
if it doesn't make the cockroaches
leave.

Self-Examination
Check your vitals

Snap the Nitrile
Up to the elbow

we're gonna stretch and
pull the protector down.

Play an Avant-garde film
no sound, but

I noticed
you spoke it

credits were rolling'
down your cheek

nothing certain but death and taxes
left handed laughing' laxatives
In the coffee of mothers
Who pump out politicians.

This year You scavenged for Christmas
a life worth living
by killing intuition

stash it
in an Easter basket
in silicone lashes

push the ashes together
then burn the mattress
That's the sand.

through fingers, you make a fist
3rd grade principal

pulled you from detention
In a stretcher

white royal flush in the trenches
You fought to be human
all you needed was
a breath of attention

who said you could end it
win it, prescription of tribulations

from whatever God you'd scavenge for Christmas
he put you through it

all the abuses
habits

black and white canvas
silent obscuring angles

You're more than mannequin

who prayed for this madness
who pays for the therapist
If you even have it
who kept you out of church
And into church basements
writes the book of curses
force fed sedative

Says he went to college.
His Suit is stained in coffee
Yet you're the burden with the vices?

The film is over
the light flickers darkness
we sit in the coffin

smoking' and screaming'
blood is flowing, but there's

no fire
we're just speaking'

what happens after 3AM
witching hour that one scene

when the camera angle was
blurry.

it spoke to me
said self examination can't be

latex
you gotta s
nitrile

they're cut resistant
cover five fingers

not just one appendage.
Blue hands protect you

more than a stranger
so button your blanket

take down the black curtains
sun was always shining,

closed it
to blurry our focus

could take our Macguyver theater
wallpaper canvas stretching

hit us in the temple
like a parshah

finished another session
the blessing of human language

the messenger
malakh, without expectation

we fumble to understand
Scalpel in hand,

ventricle in tact
we're just holding' a feather pen
stick our hands in the past

take a look in the mirror
And write it all down.

https://soundcloud.com/nicholas-coulombe/self-examination

Sometimes when I'm texting Kara
I lose faith in my own words
think it's a good idea to just keep pushing the suggested words button on my phone
Until it keeps repeating itself.

I enter a smiley Face
then let my phone, Lets call him Gary.
Let gary type his feelings out.

"Smiley face. **** sleep! I love you, you just don't need to make them hate you.
when you're done. I wouldn't recommend going home. You'll find that it's rather. . . . . . . ."

As you can imagine,
That did not help my case much.
in the context that this was 3am
she was angry.
And gary left a lot of explaining to do
Like who exactlly does she not need to make hate her?
Her homes rather what?
What the **** are you doing to Karas home Gary?

I'm not always texting Kara when I ride the suggested word generator to lazy random salvation though.

Sometimes I ask it for life advice.

I can just type it questions like
"why do i have toes?"
And it will come out with:
why do i have toes the same time as my grandma was dying and
I was losing my job so Tinder
has kind of been my way of escaping the darkness of my situation
my getting to meet new people and
having tons of awesome dates / adventures / and *** in my car
* glad you came - the wanted * During *** in my car
* glad you came - the wanted * During *** in my car
* glad you came - the wanted * During *** in my car.

And I can't help but assume that it's trying to tell me it understands me.
Or maybe that it's smarter than me.
And is predicting my future.
By warning about my past.

Sometimes friends ask Questions i haven't even answered for myself yet like:
how do I quit drinking coffee? or
how do i stop being an *******?
so I just go consult Gary.

How do you stop cheating on your girlfriend? I enter into garys think box

How do you stop cheating on your girlfriend?
I have a job for you. Men! Escort our guests.
the night pitch black
No moon in the sky.
few stars due to the city of the day?
What kind of music do you like?
what does your bedroom look like?
[ once you're confident in your hot button picture ]
And THAT'S really why you swiped right today, isn't it ( their name )?
[ Wait for response ] Right! So what days are you usually free?
[ Wait for response ] Right! So what days are you usually free?
[ Wait for response ] Right! So what days are you usually free?

I Think Gary just suggested that using tinder for men will stop the urge to cheat.
I have a strange feeling he gives bad advice.
Gary is in my head.
Gary is my head.
He is taking all of my own words
jumbling them all up
And spitting them back out at me

It's almost as if he were programed to do so.

Gary speaks for me when I lose faith in my own words.
Because i have faith in his ability to craft my old words into something laughable.
He does a good job.
I do a good job.
I have a job for you.

I sit next to my lover on the train
It always happens on a train
There is a fat woman sitting across from us
She is our friend
Tells of her tragedy.
Says we are young.
We did not have a
"gain 75 pounds alone in your house" depression like her
Tells us of her husband who is sexting
My lover
He is an old greying biker man
met my lover through being friend of the family
Must have looked at the little 12 year old girl at the time
wanted to **** it.
Waited till she was ripe for the picking.
She sends him nudes, flirts
has never told me.
I ask if it is real
grab her phone.
She trys to hide it while admitting she wanted to try alcohaul
Or drugs.
He could buy them for her.
He was useful.
Had connections.
I burst out the back of the train hoping she'll follow
console me.
She does not.
I think about jumping
the train is parked
there would be no sleep.

Let me paint you a picture of this girl.

Imagine a witches cauldron
Heavy, haunting, metal.
Make it as big as a hot tub
As big as three hot tubs.
Fill it with a bright bubbling yellow cream.
picture yourself standing in it.
thick stringy mucus elastics from your wrists.
As you cook.
She is singing.
You are quicksand bound to this 90 degree boiling snot bucket
And she's singing.

Brown purple and green
Dancing in dreadlocks
Sprinkling a little clamshell of mermaid.
Cod peice of Prince
Naked now.
Starring at you.
Almost asking.
Mostly stirring in her own devices.

The cauldron smells less like boiling flesh then you expected.
It's more like a sweet hazey butter scent.
Like autumn squash.

This whole time you couldn't move, but now you don't want to.
She's so beautiful, dancing
Her small perky chest and curved swinging hips.
A tattoo, or a birthmark just above right where you want to kiss.

She traces your chin to tell you something.
You try so hard to listen over the crackling and popping of the thick yellow cream surrounding you.
With a soft whimper,
Biting your lip
Pulling your hair
Straight down back
Into the scalding liquid
goodbye into the melting ***.
Your eyes glaze over
Breath hot Thick Mucus into your throat.
Choke on the yellow soup.

And when you wake up.
your memory is of singing.
The brown green purple notes.
Her Perky chest, curved hips
Dancing.
A tattoo, or a birthmark,
Fuzzy, like you forgot some of the details.
You wish you could see her again.
Maybe it will help you remember.

There was a time
I opened my computer in highschool
Searching my browser for you-tube for the first time.
I opened the website for U2
The band.

It was not for another month I discovered the video search engine that is so engrained into our culture today.

I saw a 5 year old navigating you-tube today.
They were watching a cat be abused and giggling.

I wonder when curiosity died.
Perhaps after it killed the cat.

Don't ask me how I got here, kid.
unless every time your College head hears the 20th century definition of "Awesome" or "Adventure"
You can hear "sandstorm" instead
wrap the lust in caution tape.
don't want you finding out
Our feet
are the same size.
you're anxious

can't you sit still?

What,
you afraid of bein' caught?

Let me tell you a secret.
nobody is watching you.

If you really wanna learn how to get here

live by that.

I assumed you wanted something?
Follow me.
don't be afraid of that cloud Over there
He just plays guitar
for cigarettes
So he can smoke 'em
Simple man, that Smokey
Not in the kiddy selling business,
Or a mercenary, or part of the
in and out
and in and out and in
and out
Of jail crew
he just plays guitar
and smokes cigarettes.
marlboro reds.
how many did you want?
$60.
Would you stop talkin' so fast?

remember not to take more than two.

And you're eating?

See,
I take care of you...

how about a kiss?
No?

Oh, **
** And you were scared of the clouds.

Light it.

put your clothes on kid.
good luck on your finals.

remember to eat.

remember who takes care of you.

In my family.
We never lock the bathroom door.
we are not prudish,
we acknowledge that if we're taking a shower
someone might need to ****.

"If I keel over and die in there I want you to be able to find me
Not have to hire a godamned locksmith.
By the time he shows up
I'll have stunk up the place
Even worse than this ****,
And you'll have a hell of a time washing that out of the carpet"

For some reason, This confuses guests.

I'll never forget the day I was cooking scrambled eggs.
My date opened up the bathroom door.

in all her glory my 62 year old bapbap smiled at her from the toilet
"hey sweety, whatcha need?"

One of them was red and screaming
And it wasn't my Bapbap.

Last week I was taking a shower when I heard the phone go off behind my loud music.

My grandpa busts through the door with phone in Hand.
"Nicholas!"
Yes papa? I respond orderlly.
jumping naked quick out the shower
Assuming he was in pain.
Or needed medical attention.

Tell me what she's sayin'
he holds a phone out to me.
he's mildly frustrated, but healthy.
my wet hand takes on the phone.
She mumbles on the other end underneath my music.
"Huh?" I say.
Fumble for my spotify to turn my music off.
"sorry I couldn't hear you over my music. I'm in the shower."
"oh I'm sorry sir, We're moving dons appointment to this Tuesday. Is that okay?"
"They wanna move your appointment to tuesday. You okay with that?"
"oh jesus, christ. yeah that's okay."
Papa was not in need of any medical attention.
But now that my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute
I thought perhaps
I would soon
So when papa hobbled out,
I left the door unlocked.

The carpenters house is never finished.

The dishwashers roomate leaves passive aggressive sticky notes on the faucet.

After work, the cook does not make dinner; the cook finds dinner.

The retail worker will not hesitate to call you an *******.

The bartender
can not hold a relationship.

The caregiver
can not bear a child

When the lobbyist comes home, there is no talk of money; there is no talk at all, only passion, hands and coffee.

When the lobbyist does not come home, there is plenty talk of money; prepaid hotel suites, passion, hands and no coffee.

In the *** workers free time, the *** worker does not give body to strangers; you will never find a lover more faithful than the *** worker.

When the prophett dies, the prophett keeps living.

When the artist is not painting
the artist is watching.

The worlds most powerful leaders have a dungeon in their basement.

The sociopath can know what is right and do the wrong thing anyway.
The sociopath doesn't need a job for that.

It just happens...

sometimes...

The sociopath is working on it.

4/4/2017 "day 4"

"Used to?
Isn't being a father permenent?
What, did she die?"

Yes.
Tragic accident
I prefer not to talk about it.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm better now,
it's been four years
She gave me lots of poetry to write
Gave me lots of happiness
when She was mine.

"She'll always be yours."

No.
Okay she didn't die.
She's still out there
somewhere
but she's not mine.
I fell in love
with a nerdy irish woman
We were both fifteen
When I said her one year old daughter
Wasn't gonna scare me away
I was in the trenches love.

"That's powerful
To love someone so much
That you are willing to raise a baby at fifteen."

At fifteen
I didn't even know what love was,
not when I met her anyway.
I was in lust.
I was blinded by a beautiful woman
who was so pretty
I didn't care what baggage she had.
I was willing to risk my life
to spend it with her.

"That's what love is."

No. That's not love.
Love is waking up to someone
staring at you
from over the edge of your bedsheets
Because that's as tall
as they can get in their tippy toes
Love is Mashed potatoes
on your nose
giggling at toppled over snowmen.
Love is not just
putting a bandage on a boo boo,
but knowing someone has always
and will forever kiss and bandage
every single boo boo

"So You can never love someone
like you love a child."

Well, You might.
But I'm broken

Always nuture or abandon
Usually both
While I wander around
praying for a ******
to pop.

"do you really want another child?"

Yes. I am ready.
I have wandered four years
with no purpose of life
other than to provide
for my own baby
I need one,
can't you understand?

"Can you even support a child?"

I could make it work, find a sitter.

No... I can't even feed myself
regularly. ..
There's no way I could
support a family
when I am as sick as I've been.

"who was the real father?"

You all ******* ask that.

She wouldn't tell me okay?
Slept around,
never asked for names.

"But she must have told someone."

she lied to the government.
It was a pack of men
who ***** her.
Wearing masks.
Never got a dna test,
never got ANY testing
Do you think I know?

"I do."

look. It's the only gift
I have left to offer that little girl.
I will not tell a single soul.
It was someone her mother loved very much.
Someone she would never be able to love
without being judged.
someone who must be buried
beneath old corpses
Hidden at the bottom of every bottle
carried on her shoulders
until the day she dies
And even then if she is very lucky
he will never know it's his.
She looked him dead in the eyes and lied.
she was dead in the eyes and lied
she is dead in everyones eyes
because she lied
she can't drink enough to forget
That her family regrets her
And no matter how many
strangers she *****
She can't make up for the ones
she lied about in the beginning
back when he was
the only one to touch her
She compensates
to unravel the web with her body
But the silk is woven so thick now.
as thick as it is

it still won't keep her baby warm.

I lament the terror that strikes me when old voices are summoned from new mouths.

Affinity for the moon I suppose.
the fireflies
cold air.

I've felt happier at night my whole life
Sitting in elementery popcorn reading

Headphones plugged into a PSP
Blaring mindless self iindulgence
Putting me to sleep
So I could level up my nightelf hunter in World of Warcraft
watch Naruto until 5am
And sleep through social anxiety.

For awhile I woke up at 4am to serve you coffee.
Seven years addicted

I loved that too.
Traded coca cola for bkack coffee
And an eating disorder

Now Im a graveyard shift worker.
Manjc smirking at untold stories in assisted living
Goldmine of consentrated Wisdom
Parkinsons orchestra Doctorates
Politicians preparing for death

Rabbis still flirting with nurses and remembering the whoke torah service by heart
When they cant remember their wives name.
Wives of Men that played god until they met him.
Breifly
Before the trap door unlatched

For my death.
I like to imagine a big desk
A wall of glass
The top of a grey tower.

I want to Birth a skyscraper.
I want to stand staring out my wall of window back turned to my desk.
And
watch how beautiful stasis can be
As the trap door caves beneath me for my sins.
I want to leave someone behind to tell my story.
My journal is someone.

I'm a night owl
I am alive most when the world is either sinning or silent

And I refuse to die quietly.
Or before I get my Desk.
Or my window.

To watch the sun rise and fall
But never stay.

I am not meant to watch things last forever.
I am a night owl.

I enjoy this world for all the endings.
This is my favorite part.

Psychic type with no
Emotional energy?
Abra fled; no spoons.

we call these stars.
white strips of clarity bursting through pinpricks
spotlights through feather falling dandruff

thunder buckles the plexiglass sheet with it's shoulder
crackles little eggshell triangles past the dancing dandruff
pale veins spread like ink in fabric
thin burnt parchment
holding back thudding pulses from the Amniotic sun

We call this a sunrise
when the Sun hurls the final flaming shoulder into day.

Not the giggling gums of a baby faced Tele-tubby sun
not the serenade of "goodnight moon, and goodnight you"

My sunrise is A dragon-glass egg,
pulsing to the drumbeat of a feathered heart

A tea-light spider spinning webs into an inferno shoulder
flexing flamesilk muscles through each pinprick star

lamp posts hum a prismatic prayer
Grassy fields catch light with their fireflies
old country porch lights attract moths
dust hung in stasis
starts feather falling when light catches

tubes of Mercury fashioned into bar-signs
flicker as ghosts hum on the gas
poets flick cigarette ashes
call in stardust for the wind to carry
up
to Gatsby it up in the pin ******
there is nothing more beautiful and warm
then stardust Dancing rich in the suns desperate pinpricks

Watching the Debut of struggling birth
throwing itself against confinement
shedding light, on the tiniest flurry of dandruff
before filling each vein of the broken sky with fire.

I love to watch gasoline soaked parchment
curl in on itself like an old handwritten letter.
I call this the night sky.

Catch the falling ashes on my tongue like snowflakes.
If I swallow enough of them
a tiny pheonix fire in my belly can hurl it's little shoulder against my rib cage.
Pounding until it bursts out through all these pinpricks.

I will call out to the mothsdust, dandruff and fireflies
invite them to dance in the combustion.

If I am anything like a starlit night.
I will buckle before I burst

Thunderclap an invitation
Shatter the street lamps and mercury tubes
with the winding bass drop.
direct the audiences attention to dust hung gentle in a cold still sky.
feather falling in silence
A blossoming caged sun.
No one expects a gentle sunrise

4/12/17

At 8pm, it is the changing of hats
in assisted living
It is time I releive a woman
from sitting in the dark
waiting for our paycheck to die.
She survived one more shift.
it is my turn at this game of russian roulette.
I meet so many strangers this way,
Each night before I sit, and wait for doors to close
I take oppurtunity to watch one open
Ask the new surviver to tell me their story.
and Write them down.

she moved across the countrey
away from her sister
a divorce from her beleifs.
sister Against God.
I empathize
How hard to move across The world,
pack up your morals
move in with your ex sisters ex husband.
I promptly told her I was polyamorous.
That my lover moved to ireland
To live with her husband
Packed up everything
She did not flinch.
I held this stranger
as she cried on my shoulder
She
in the fifteen moments I saw her
Realized
the world of differences between us.
She can find comfort in solitude
never once knew what I thought
of her Morals
How In my family
we celebrate divorce
how all burning houses are Phoenix fires
abusers can nametag forever
nametag your body is my body
Nametag husband
I worry for her safety.
A woman who doesn't beleive
in the word stop.
Doesn't consider leaving
my biggest fear is those
afraid to weild the word no.
to close the door.

she closes the door
I sit in the dark to my journal
I write down this poem beside a dying man.
the next contestant releives me at 8am.
I pass her the revolver.
I have survived this round of russian roulette.
He died the next night
and it does not feel like winning.
I live in the world of
revolving doors and revolvers
I wish to be the bullet.
pass through their skull as they go
see what they were thinking
In that last moment.

How many domains can one god have before he is daring too close to omnipotent

Curiosity, Risk, Luck, Failure,

How many names must one have before they are a god?
Adonai

How many titles?

Leader
Lover
Father
Mother

I am curious
I am the god of curious

I am so much want, greedy, so selfish.
I am the god of human

I am so human
Show me, god...

Of all the things you've looked at and said
"Wow, that's so beautiful."
How many are still there?
Ten?
Maybe just the ocean?

Picture a playground
Swing set jungle gym
Whatevers on a childrens playground
It's behind your house.
You go there twice a week

There's tutus and there's overalls
And there's little horses with springs on the bottom
That are slightly rusted
But they rock back and fourth and don't fall over anyway
Because they're so far
Dug down into that playground tar
It's just, permenant
It takes three men wearing orange vests to pull it out of the ground.
There are memories there.
Some of them are even caught on video
And you
You can't go there again

Orange haired casino brokers set
Blue stages
Pink legs pole dance to
Purple music notes floating vibrations across faceless crowds.
You are among them.
Staring at the pink womans
Black stilettos throwing
Green at them.
Hoping they don't throw it back.

You dangled from my laytex glove
Prey above dogs
Held sturdy by the chest
Gentle

Playful beasts they were, barking.
TOY! MEAL!
FOOD!
They couldn't see how terrified you were of their instinct to howl.
I foot them inside the rickety screen door.

I agreed to toss you in the woods.
expected a cleaning job.
Extracting a cold still object from her sisters cage.

You looked at me.
I wanted to look you in the eyes
before I did it.
And You looked at me.
Stretched out your legs

We laid down together
Sun cooked the wooden porch beneath our bodies
desperate to learn everything like fresh fall season lovers.

You moved when I touched you.
Like my attention gave you an extra moment

You didn't seem to breath

I offered a carrot.
Meek. You used what life was left in you to open your mouth.
You hadn't the strength to chew.

I was too optimistic.
I know now.
When I broke the tiniest peice of carrot free
placed it in your mouth.
You hadn't the strength to swallow

But you were breathing heavy now

I felt like god.
A human god.
Selfish even now in the giving of life
How happy your mother will be
How powerful I will look
Deciding which creatures live.
And die.

I shoved the bit of carrot
with a medical pinky finger.
You took three large gasps for air

I Dropped my godly optimism in a grey plastic bag on the desperate table of three worried pet doctors.
Embarrassed for me, they ask us to leave

You already had.

At a field of uncut hay.
Same laytex glove.
Same grey plastic bag
Same executioners guilt.

My guardian angels curiosity and risk slapped my greed with icarus wings.

I cried.
threw you like a baseball into the sunset.
Cars pulled wind behind us while I stared.

How like me to give my full curiosity to what is known to die soon.
How greedy I am to try and bring it back
Risk shoving my hand down its throat to chase a miracle that looks
to you
like charity
for the praise,
then abandon it when I discover
the treasure comes with its own ghosts.

I pull down another sunset.
Fast.
Like curtains on a stage

You are in a recliner
M.A.S.H. is on the T.V.
A boy moves you to a wheelchair
White doors
Hallway
Small reuban cube dinner
Thickened water
Chocolate ice cream
White fabric
White light
Black curtains

Self examination
snap the nitrile

blue gloves up in your ventricles
grab a *******

or two
we're gonna stretch and

pull down the protector
3,2,1 avant garde

no sound, but your life was hard
I noticed

you spoke it
credits were rollin'

down your cheek
so you smoked it

and laughed at
nothing certain but death and taxes

laxative breakfast served
a generation

you miss it you miss it
a life that hurt because you

scavenged for Christmas
the little blessings

a life worth living
by killing optimists

penetrating defense
to pillar high with indifference

to intent
now you can't ascend

you stash it
in Easter baskets

in sillicone lashes
push the ashes together

then burn the mattress
dust to sand

through fingers, a fist
3rd grade principal

pulled from detention
a stretcher pulled you

white to trenches you fought in
when all you needed was

a breath of attention
who said you could end it

win it
prescription of tribulations

from whatever God you'd scavenge for Christmas
he put you through it

all the abuses
the habits

the black and white canvas
silent obscuring angles

of mannequins
30 seconds of a dancer

who prayed for this madness
who pays for the therapist

who even lets you have it
who kept you out of church

and into church basements
who writes the book of curses

that force fed you the sedative
given by laxatives

that say they went to college.
their Suit is stained in coffee

Yet you have the vices
The film is over

the light flickers darkness
we sit in the coffin

smokin' and screamin'
blood is flowing, but there's

no fire
we're just speakin'

what happens after 3PM
witching hour that one scene

when the camera angle was
blurry.

it spoke to me
said self examination can't be

latex
you gotta get nitrile

they're cut resistant
cover five fingers

not just a lover
a stranger

they protect you from more than danger
so button your blanket

take down the ink curtains
sun was always shining,

closed it
to blurry focus

could take our macguyver theater
wallpaper canvas stretching

hit us in the temple
like a parsha

finished another session
the blessing of human language

the messenger
malakh, without expectation

we fumble to understand
Scalpel in our hand,

ventricle in tact
we're just holdin' a feather pen

talkin' in white and black
we stick our hands in the past

take a look at examination
then take a look at our self.

30/30 "Day 6" 4/6/2017

Muse

Blankly observing from the doorway
Me on your mattress while you were gone
I wake from my 9 to 4 Rest after third shift
To your stare
Sunken into the doorframe
A limp contrapasto
This is the first time you have shown me
Honesty

You are not eager nor professional
Manipulative, nor Passionate.
Simply Home.
You are home

I've never seen anything more beautiful
set to the frequency of a good book
After years of us swapping stories
Shooting fireworks at comic book panels
Lighting each other on fire when we aren't
Quite sober of heart

When we speak in streetlight colors
or profanity
Artists after midnight
You were never comfortable

Tonight you shed all mask
Facade
No intention, depression, expression
You were done today with social interaction
I've written you into a thousand novellas
Without ever looking you in the eyes.
I saw you today, Muse.

Honesty draped limp in contraposto
Hanging limbo until I left silently manic
Smirking out the front door for you
So you could live vouyerless for awhile.
Nose in a good book
Heart stirring tornados in my chest again
Like I was blinded by future ambition.
You told me you found out
what you wanna do with your life.

you told me today,
you know how to stay alive.

4/9/17

There is a circle of chairs in this room.
To my left
a man reads "Watchmen".
Red converse, superhero jacket.
Behind him,
a red haired girl squeaks
high pitched moans
at her cell phone.
On my right
three pill bottles exchange philosophy
on how to wake up
Only one considers taking
the advice.
In front of me is a bulk of man, farm tattoos, blonde crew cut,
Wife back home watching their two kids.
He's building rapport with a lanky indie chick
Knit cap & OBEY hoodie, viynal record brain, paper coffee cup hands
By the map of America sits a quiet girl
Trying not to be noticed
Hoodie three sizes to big
Grey, no coffee, no eye-contact
Beside a blur of neon pink camoflauge
A blob the shape of school bag
packed for an overnight studying
a dead body

Smack center of all of them?
Me.
Like IM the one that needs attention.