I want to meet myself,
as if I’ve never tried to
understand my self,
run into him at a party,
drunk, at 3am hearing what
he's ****** up, and how
misses youth
and hates cancer
and himself,
I want to watch him
writing at coffee shops
and contemplate saying
hello because he looks like
he wants to die,
I want to bump into him
on the subway and apologize,
I want to pick apart his mind,
stand awkwardly beside him
at a crosswalk,
listen to his cross-talk
and how he refuses to capitalize
god’s name when he writes about him,
watch as he writes this piece
and tries to understand why
he wants to understand himself so badly that he wants to  
stand at his own funeral, being his own shoulder,
wishing he could slide out of his own shoes