No fears
No tears
Just numbness everywhere

I think everyone knows that everything
is incredibly stressful and the pressure
is exceedingly painful, but
they refuse to recognize
it could be different.
So when my girlfriend
tells me, "I worked a job
and went to college full time",
I don't know how to say, "Great!
But I would crack under that pressure!"
I don't know why going to college
is supposed to be so important when
college is really a market of
diminishing returns in exchange
for crippling debt.
I just want a simple stupid life
in a simple stupid place
with a simple stupid routine.
Why's that so ******* hard to ask for?

Saw someone drop their phone
and laughed at them.
I'd like to watch the world drop
their stupid/smartphones
and have to look at each others
stupid goat like faces and gazes.

Remind me what heaven looks like,
all I remember is that I'm a scumbag
with moral insensitivity and
you are my nightmares off the page.
Simultaneously a classic,
also a contemporary gore piece.
A landmine seized by epidemic.

Walked away with an insincere
"I'll see you later",
and I responded with a sincere
"Whatever."
Maybe I'm destroying myself in
character slowly but it takes
so ******* long still.
I cheered an old man who crossed the street alone.
I'm getting too close to yelling at a manager,
and losing a job I need to much.
Too close to the edge, but
when I think about it I always am,
and when I think even harder
I hate everything so much.

People are either obscenely early,
or baffling late.
Yes, they tend to forget.
About you.

Bury your sorrows in debt.
Be alone, usually.
Your words spill out like
a pornographic goremance.
You are redder than blood,
and hotter than breath.

Smoking outside and in,
we crafted a shelter out of
bare bones and sad songs.
Sadly they couldn't cut
sharply or hardly enough
to get through every load
of *******.

I am;
something you forget.

Remember
after.

You don't really care
about me. If you did
I wouldn't be.

Your care for me is
a consolation prize.
An apology.

I'm there after the people.
After the places.
Behind the background.

I'm after words.
After reaction.
After thought.

I'm sick of having what should be
a discussion on a serious topic
turn into,
"You're ridiculous for thinking
otherwise;
this is how it is."

I wondered for the first time today
about the man that will capture your heart,
like I never could.

You'll meet him at some Friday night party
in a dim living room among wafts of pale gray smoke
and stale vapors from a shared hookah.

Some morning later, when lights stab your eyes,
and every sound tosses your stomach, you'll scramble
for scattered clothes, twisted and turned,
inside-out: your heart, confused and excited.

You'll say it was all unexpected, unplanned—a flight unmanned.
I'll hug you like a friend, and I'll mean it when I say
something vague about being happy for you.

At some white-clothed table, sheltered away
from twisting hips and unkempt ties,
I'll slide my fingers down condensation
of an abandoned, unfinished drink.
I'll look at you, and we'll recount the nights,
circa summer 2008, on my bedroom floor
and hanging from monkey bars,
dreaming of cool ocean nights and Hollywood lights.
And I'll pray he will love you like that.