Last week my History professor was talking about British Imperialism in India

while I was busy watching a row of ants

make their way from the trash can to

a hole in the wall,

and I mentally checked in just in time to hear him say,

“If you don’t believe the future will be any better, what’s the point of living?”

and I wanted to laugh at the top of my lungs,

but I just kept taking notes



Last night

I downed three times the recommended dosage of sleeping pills with beer,

which is obviously really bad for you,

but obviously not bad enough,

because I still woke up



I got you Anne Sexton for your birthday because I love her,

but also because I have a real affinity for writers who killed themselves,

because I feel like they’re doing laps around the pool

while I’m still looking down from the diving board