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Circa 1994 Mar 2014
I don't want to be alone,
because then I'm forced to deal with myself.

And being alone with myself and my thoughts,
that is one of my least favorite past times.

I can't endure the silence when I am alone.
Music is constantly buzzing
So I can't think

When I get thinking, I get stuck in my mind,
Like a crab in a castnet.


I'd enjoy my loneliness if it was with anyone else but me.
I don't want anymore noise.
Be the one to mute it.
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
I rely too much on others to sew me back together.
I wanted to be the one to fix me this time,
so I'm not waiting in pieces until someone arrives with a needle and thread.

So I found a playlist to suit my mood.
And weathered the storm.
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
My socks are a conversation starter,
They have more to say than me.
I request a Kid Cudi song
To the kid with his laptop open to YouTube,
Pretending to be a DJ.
Someone takes a long pull on the hookah.

I discuss True Blood in the backseat of a car with a girl from Hungry.
I drink a Capri Sun.
Eat some Ritz.

My mind is sober and waiting for my body to catch up.
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
Most love stories follow a similar pattern.
One which unfolds in chronological order.
How quickly that pattern grows mild,
underwhelming.

What if the same love story was told in reverse?
(Hear me out.)
What if the story started at the relationship's end,
and progressed to the beginning?

Two lovers being slowly unsewn from each others' memories.
Back to a time before the two had ever met.
Then what?
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
The black cursor pulses with intimidation;
urging you to fill the white blankness with letters that form words and transition into sentences.
The keyboard is my instrument,
usually used for good and occasionally for evil.
An encouraging word or a means to vanquish my enemies.
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
I drink just enough to make me comfortable
in my own skin.
Just enough to make me warm.

You ask me why I'm crying.
Do I need a reason?

"Because I feel like it."
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
This isn't going to be
one of those pretentious poems
Induced by a wave of sadness.

I've written far too many
Of those.

And I won't let myself
Be miserable again.
There are too many
Numbing medications
For me to tolerate anything less than neutral.
Even that is uncomfortable:
indifference.
impartiality.

Makes me anxious.
Like I'm waiting.
Treading water.
I've traded the safety of a swimming pool
For the vastness of the ocean.
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