Sometimes all you need to admit that you're uncharacteristically cool with all of this is a bit of liquid courage and a pinch of frustrated madness swished around until you're sarcastically committing to loving the **** out of your current situation with a vague suspicion that you're not actually being ironic.

Contrary to what you may be thinking,
I am not a contrairian.
I like to play Angel's Counsel to your Devil's Advocate, but not just because I've been drinking.
(Though, to be fair, I have been, but forgive me. I'm celebrating.)
Anything worth debating always has two sides.
Try seeing them both for a change before dividing the lines.
And while it may sound contradictory at times, and doesn't end in a rhyme,
just meet me in the middle, *******!

There are some things he can't refuse.
He goes into the dark with a ***.
He's probably out there right now, proposing to a masseuse
with balled up bills in a box.

Caked in sticky layers of soot, from the burning down below.
Layers of filth to fertilize his rotten garden growth.

Bathed in neon light, he goes seeking the obscene.
He showers every single night,
but his mind is far from clean.

She says she's never danced by herself.
I can't feign surprise.
I think back to our last date,
and see her face in my mind:

The darts around the room.
The delayed, half-panicked smile.

She relaxes some when I take her hand.
How she wishes I could whisk her away then,
take her to a place where no one is staring,
and we'll dance and dance the night away like some kind of dream sequence playing behind the lyrics of her favorite karaoke song.
(Or maybe I'm just projecting.)

She says she likes it when I drink.
She says her father used to drink.
I can't help but think there may be some issues unresolved.

Not enough to stop me from putting my arms around her
as we watch the paramedics load the guy with the ****** leg onto a stretcher and whisk him away.

You can't go on without me,
but I can't go back alone.
The fold has bent and crushed them all while staring at their phones.

I sold the dream they bought me,
if only for your smile.
The tide has swept them all away in currents of denial.

I swear I swore an oath at some point, to some ideal that seemed worth stealing, so at least I'd have a confession to make while doing all this kneeling.

This crushing ultra lightness. This heavy ever empty.
These vain puzzle pieces crashing through the vacuum.