The psychics were breathing smoke,
rummaging through my roommates collection of abstract art,
they told me what my favorite Modest Mouse album was,
they told me about my personality,
I told them I was a psychic,
they told me to *******.
Everyone assumes an original identity
in the self-inflicted apocalypse
provided by that old friend, alcohol.
Kevin was the smooth-talking,
drink-mixing extraordinaire.
Kara was the cynic.
Shawna was the kindhearted.
Evan was sober.
Tyler was in and out.
I was the ******* that took a party pill,
bounced off everyone with a handshake
and an apology.
We **** ourselves to resurrect,
piece together the discordance,
the chaos,
the girls.
While the psychics were breathing smoke,
while Kevin was collapsing,
while everyone was worried about me,
all I could say was,
"This is the happiest night of my life,
and that depresses the hell outta' me."
I longed for the sirens in the distance,
I took another drink,
I longed for renewed innocence,
I took another drink,
I longed for someone to lay beside me,
I took another drink,
it was finally enough.
I took off my shirt,
made war with the remnants of stability,
of sanity,
told my friends I loved them,
and hoped that my time ended in sync
with the sunrise.
Copyright 2010 by J.J. Hutton