I dressed as me
for the party.
What do you do for a living?
I am a poet twinkled
calloused eyes
between disbelief
and comic relief of
fake heroes marveling,
spitting out punch
cause it tasted like grease,
their business cards burning
in speechless canopies.
Those grieving batmen
pleasuring the guilty,
wasting precious time,
Oculus Rifts on their eyes.

But..
You should be going to more events like these and...
Didn't I see you at the Belvéderé party? and...
You should be getting drinks with people twice a week...
It's the only way. (I think)

What is this table?
Is this free wine?

Oh and...
I wasn't asking what I should do with my precious time.
I am asking what you don't do...
and why?
You say you hate to trick,
but that it's the only way to get treats.
You probably were the kid that
filled your pillowcase with
doorstep pumpkins of candy,
abandoning the suckers like me.

But life isn't Halloween all the time,
just one night.
And lies are not costumes
we can sell on ebay
when we are done tricking people.
They eat us alive.
Trick n' die.