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A Poem About Being Bad at Talking to People in Bars

All I have to do is, "Hello, how's it going?" and the scene is set. Some swell of social masochism stuck inside my head at best. That step one is a doozie, but not taking it means staying in. So going out's the other side, damn seems I've lost my coin again. Alright then. Here, let's try this then. "Ain't seen you in a while, man." -Been busy. Girlfriend, house, and job. -No time for getting out a lot. -I'm moving next month, see ya round. Oh. Now I see. Seems everybody else but me is doing fine, is growing, building, going, getting paid and getting laid and all I said was, "Hello, how's it going?" Now I know. I'm either made of stoic parts expressing little keeping down these feelings brittle cracked, sharp spines in blood seek sunlight or to contrast this, they just might be the other side of same. I mean, they could be saying things convincing arguments of health where they don't have to face themselves. Regardless. I'm unguarded and this talk was quite unhelpful. I'mma go now. Think I see a friend who just came in. I'll try again. "Hello, how's it going?" And I'm answering this time, I'm fine. I'll take a double short with rum and coke and wedge of lime.
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Written by
riq-schwartz
American
Published
Jul 27, 2018
Lines·Words
37·218
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