Today I realized I’m responsible
for the destructive crash
that brought me to where I am.
There were quite a few red lights,
but I ignored them completely.
After all, it’s the green lights
that always look so beautiful
when you are out at night.

She asked “Did you take the trash out?”
How do I answer that?
I guess.
There’s still more here.
There are things waiting to be trash
There’s things that we think are things but they’re actually trash
There are things that I think are things but you think they’re thrash and vice versa
We’re eventually going to go out and buy things that will one day become trash
Then someone is going to take the trash and turn it back into a thing until no one wants that thing then it goes back to being trash
Perhaps it’s because we’re so used to handling trash
That sometimes we tend to treat each other the same way

And no, I didn’t take the trash out

we once watched a movie together
where the protagonist obsessed over the social constructs of beauty.

she'd chant relentlessly
i'm happy when i'm beautiful
i'm happy
when i'm beautiful
i'm
happy
i'm
beautiful - -

or was it the other way around?

i'm beautiful when i'm happy

whatever it was, i just wanna say
i miss being beautiful with you.

They wanted to be able to feel a way that was familiar to them. Comfortable. And it did not have to feel good. They did not have to feel joy. Because joy was too fleeting. To them, joy was uncomfortable, because they could not control it. To them, joy was uncomfortable, because they knew it would soon be gone. But they could control their suffering. They could control their own despair. They could hurt themselves whenever they wanted to. They took solace in this. Finally, something consistent. A place to settle in. A cranny to hide within.
The world soared past them.