people
people
people
people
**** people
and their dreams
of white fences
and tidy suits
and red convertibles
**** that life

oh the profanity
the profanity!
you serious *******,
do I terrify?

I’m watching
all natural disasters at once
melting all together
morphing into
this human race

american exceptionalism!
I’m dead
in my boots
walking across
the shriveled streets
of rolling cornfields
of the past’s future
of the optimism
the ******* optimism
that is nothing but words
that is nothing but hope
we can’t eat hope
we can’t drink hope

time to starve
and pretend
that we’re
changing
when we never
moved
in the first place

i.
three in the afternoon, he
sees himself in clumsy knots
of nerves running from hook to
pole fishing close to murky
strands of lakeweed cloudy and
soft like his memories of her.
ii.
three in the afternoon, she
traces patterns in the bracelet
on her arm he placed gently moons
ago firm like painful memories
seeping through the beads
she can’t seem to remove.
iii.
he doesn’t know who
who he's fishing for anymore
she doesn’t know what
what she's waiting for anymore
carry on, darling
carry on.

He sits with his arm draped around his girl,
Everyone knows they're together,
They all see them,
Together. Happy.

They don't see his eyes wonder,
to the same plain girl,
with scars like snakes on her arms,
Alone. Quite.

He thinks of her,
Longs for her,
wants her,
Morbid. Disgusting.

He wants the girl in his arms,
to be her,
he forgets of the world.
Her. Him. Together.

I'd like to think I'm alone in the world,
Because when I realise I'm not the only one who's hurting,
I feel horrified that there are so many,
There's no beauty in numbers,
When you read the reason it's for,
Don't you feel a little sick?
There's many of us dying,
worse yet, we're the ones with the **gun.