this is is the curse summer has gifted me:

ninety days of subway stations and
over-zealous music tastes and
yearning for some different faces while
ignoring them in all your places
placemats dripping in spilled drinks and
way too much for one to think and
saying yes to too many suggestions
whilst ignoring all of the important questions

drummers with harsh words and nice eyes and
a dad with no clue how to apologize and
feeling pitch black in a field of light and
why haven't i showered since sunday night?

it's plants you grow that always die
and stupid books about stupid lives
but you're at the library almost all of the time
and you still lie awake just before the sun can rise

its how meditation lies
and all reciprocation has died
it's your own foreign tongue and
a longing for anyone
it's your word against yours since
no one cares to listen and

summer seems to have gone on too long