you keep repeating that
simple but ominous phrase.
           get out
                get out
                     get out.

           get out of this town,
           out of this state,
           out of this life.
she wishes i could transfer
planets,
universes, if at all possible.

           drop everything and
           go before you can't leave.
she meant before i was too
strung out to function,
but would never say it.

she offered me a ticket out,
one that never expires,
to go to any college in any
state to get any degree and
i wouldn't have to pay a cent.

but i have to quit drugs.

who the **** am i anymore?

sometimes i swear i don't even
******* exist.
to anyone.

we were sitting in our place, in the place that we silently claimed as ours. the joint is dim, and we always order the same thing. we go here when one of us is going on a trip, or if it's the weekend and we want to go somewhere familiar but never boring. we go here when we're sad or happy. to celebrate or to console each other. we've been going here for as long as we've know each other, but tonight is different. i'm not very hungry and neither are you. small rain cloud hangs over our booth. the music is playing louder than usual and it's some stupid love song that makes me choked up, but i swallow it. and then when we're leaving, we both sigh, not knowing when we'll return here, to our favorite spot, because i'm going to california and you're going to college in northern minnesota, and by the time i return, you will be in college. and i'll be in this town we grew up in, missing you. and i suppose it's fair. because i left you and went to rehab for three cold long months and you had to wait here, in this ******* town. and now i have to wait, in this town i refer to as home, but it won't feel the least bit like home when you're gone.

and then i ******* cried.

endings are weird.
you cannot practice an
ending,
and you cannot
anticipate a beginning.

endings are bitter,
because you don't want
to look for that silver
lining everyone is trying
to point you towards.
you want to sit in your
**** and be mad and sad
at bitter endings
and nonessential
beginnings.

why can't good things just stay.

why are endings so
dismal and heartbreaking.

why is it so hard to let go.

why do we lament over conclusions,
more than we rejoice the birth
of new eras,
of fresh starts.

why is it that nothing gold can stay.

i stopped by a party in 1991,
just to see what there was to see.
i told my friends i must
be getting home soon,
because it was late and i was
drunk and i was tired.
"we're just stopping by,"
they told me.
"we'll be here for 5 minutes,"
it was a new years eve party,
the date was January 1st,
1991.
i had too much fun at this party,
everyone did.
all my friends were there,
and some strangers too.
everyone seemed to be
having the time of their lives.
i was enjoying myself so thoroughly
that i lost
track of time.
lost touch with
reality.
when i left the bottles
and pipes and rolled up
dollar bills to find the bathroom,
i asked a passerby what time
it was,
they told me,
it's 2:32 p.m.
August 7th,
2013.

you know that kind of
sad where you feel
like you're
sinking,
drowning,
dropping down
to the bottom of
an empty
ocean.

that all encompassing
feeling of hopelessness
that swallows you
and makes you feel hollow
and forgotten and
unloved.