i know
you can't
forgive me
for not keeping
you warm
when i should have.
and my inconsistencies
outweigh the
goodness in me
lately,
but maybe you'll excuse
the mess --
i am a bad day,
and i'm looking
for you
in everything
i do.

pavement scrapes beneath my feet
high on hash, howling at the moon
drunk on gasoline—
drowning in it.

i’m just trying to make it
to the promise land.
ya know,
where there is no road
and everyday is a ****** up holiday.

so i drag myself through the 3am swoon
with money on my mind
when i’ve got none of it.
its hot
i’ve been counting my
teeth with my tongue
and i am searching for god
in the cracks on the side walk
but i’m walking alone
and the blood runs thick.

i return to my parents home
nestled too far into the
battle field of mediocrity.
i am asleep in a bed much too large for
just one body,
but when my best friend is too tired
to make the drive home,
i find myself choosing the couch
while she sleeps too small in my bed
too large.
in that, there is something
particularly sad and sick
and i find it in myself
when she asks me
as i sit across from her
eye to eye,
'where are you?'
and i hold my words
in the back of my throat
and they choke me,
silently panicking,
and a clear lie is freed from my lips:
"i've just been really stressed lately.
i'm taking a lot of credits (i think about
what it would be like to die too often)"
and we move on
because she knows i'm lying
if only to hide,
but i return to my bed at night
alone and missing the feeling
of being lonely, because at least
that means i feel something

about this foreverlike distance
between me and myself
and myself and everyone else.

so i retreat to the couch
where i pretend that the cushion
is someone i can lay next to
without wanting to find
somewhere else to sleep.