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Nov 2011
This is not going to go as planned. Talk about unsettling – I am completely without seat.
Afraid to talk, or I’ll throw up.
And I’m shaking on the inside
And clenching the edges of papers
In small, isolated seizures
And it’s rushing on like a freight train
Like a highway spun backwards
And I’m standing, alone,
Silent
And breathing heavy.

This is the moment when I fall back on alcohol.
When I imagine the soft fluidity of liquid bringing me into collapse
Seducing me, sedating me,
Tranquilizing my hip-hop-wired nerves.

All I want to do is scream, once, at the top of my lungs,
Into my pillow?
Could imply ****.
Unsure if whether or not you will put your hands on me your eyes on me,
I don’t want that, can’t have that,
You haven’t earned that.
Don’t even know why you like me
Or if I do, if I should, why should I like you
When you’re tall and have a low voice
And might be depressed,
And I’m ****** up, too manic
Don’t wanna get into this cest pool
And really out of nowhere when you’re just about to bolt
You ask me, like it’s nothing,
If I’d like to go for a drink.

And I ****** well did want to go for a drink
Even though I don’t want to go for a ******* drink!
Because your hands are big
And sweaty
Which would ruin everything,
And I don’t know anything about you
Or me,
And I would just be saying the same, old, ****
And it wouldn’t be fun,
And we’d enter into the same, old, ****
Like playing a game of pool
And – whoops! – I showed too much cleavage, and hey, don’t you dare try and show me how it’s done,
With your hands on my hips,
Like that one time at work,
Which thrilled me.

I’m just a bundle of contradictions. And I don’t think this is right.
I’d really like to shut this off like the lights like the zone of electricity,
But it’s still there
And I bet you’re so calm.
And I’m sure I’ll smile, when it happens.
And I’m sure it’ll go ******* well.
I’m not taking a lick of joy from that,
Only anxiety,
Sallow, brown anxiety.
And great, ******* it, this isn’t going to work
Get me out of it
Climb out of my skull
Onto the pavement
Liquor me up, or I’ll never make it through this ****.
It’s time to go. Man up. Grow some *****.
**** me.
Randy Jane
Written by
Randy Jane
791
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