Traipsing through alleys,
Awash in an alcoholic glow,
We play Frogger,
Headed to our usual spot.

PBR's and Mai Tai's disguised as Powerade,
The night elapses
In a haze
Of elaborate bottle passes.

Unsurprisingly, I'm numb.
I suppose it hasn't hit me;
Then again, I'm emotionally thrifty
When Death swings his scythe.

So many people weep and wail,
Their arms flailing
As they cry and rail
Against the All Powerful.

Yet, I am empty.
I've been to funerals aplenty,
And I'm indifferent.
Death is inevitable--it happens to us all.

For me, it means a feast of fried chicken
And lots of finger lickin'.

Caked,
Contoured,
Painted,
Photoshopped--

Perfection is
What Nature alone can never realize.

You, sir, are remiss.
I am not your
"Babe," your "sweetie,"
And I'm most certainly not
"Silly."

A reconsideration of
Our "relationship" is
Obviously in order.
You're too forward, sir.
Back the **** up.

walk into room from shower
Write message to hopeless love interest on Facebook
comb hair
wonder if I used to lose this many when I was younger
make a neat pile to see if its a substantial amount
eh
itch in ear
walk to bathroom
consider if i should see a therapist about anxiety because of potential hair loss
grab 2 q tips
return to room
cleaned ears
chose to ignore it
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