as if in answer
the rain starts ******* down on your roof
and instead of wondering what you were
going to do for the rest of your life
if you never found anyone to be with,

you just ended up feeling the heat kick in, the
blower spraying you with tepid air that was
miles above what it was like outside,

and that's all you needed to convince you
you were just the animal you always believed
yourself to be--

it's sad you can't get the day's disasters
out of your head because even you
we're saying to yourself as you pulled
up to your apartment that in ten years,

not only would you forget all about the
petty ***** who made you feel like you'd ****** up
when you hadn't, but you'd be able to laugh that
you thought "******* up" meant that they could
use you until there was just nothing left...

and what's even sadder is that you waste your life
dwelling on these things that will be ghosts of
ghosts, the dead and forgotten, the things you really
won't be able to summon up from the depths of the past
because, truly, that's how important they are:

but right, right...
because it's the present, and because you're in
the "here and now," of course things matter to you,
of course how people see you matters to you

even though you know this always has been and
will continue to be your own individual
path to destruction--