Dive kicked off the aspirin,
overdosed on vitamin D.
Up all night, celebrating,
properly sober;
properly hydrated,
properly fed.

Stomach ache from experimenting foods,
sriracha on salad and chocolate and eggs
threw it all over everything like "HADOUKEN!",
there's information floating on the wind everywhere
and most of it is ***** and cats,
people saying, "hey" and "yo" and "whats up?"

And I'm addicted to Tom Waits,
and probably ***, and probably the internet,
and probably video games and thinking,
but thinking about offing myself.
Genesis does what nintendon't
and lately every modern gaming console
simply just www.WillNot.
I guess we're all fantasizing till we stop.

Also, punk and jazz will not mix well,
my grandfather wrote me from the grave
just to say so.
He says the rent isn't so bad,
but the landlord is the ******* devil,
although there's a room for me to move in.
I just might if I don't get medicated,
for right now I'm whimsical
and singing up and off key.

All these zombies are feeling my vibe
with their teeth and fingernails,
and affection never felt so good
from such a friendly crowd.
I don't get out much anymore,
I'm slipping into old habits
more often because I'm lonely
and melancholic and bored.

It's all right or whatever.

I wonder how many people have ever felt like this before;
Cowering with the knowledge that there's a rhinoceros on the otherside of their door.

She says I'm just a little too lonely for her.
She says she can't be bothered by a lone ivory horn.

But I was born to wallow,
in a puddle that the better beasts know to avoid.
I was born to swallow mud and cough up fertilized bone;
to choke on marrow while distant gardens grow.

She says my spine can't seem to find the right way to write itself.
I told her she's wrong.

I told her that I can write like a mad man,
that I can grip words and twist them with burning fists that punch holes through preconceived notions like some sort of metaphoric hadouken.

She says it's too vague,
that I've been swept up in the plague of Easter-eggs and internet memes -
that my bad posture and pessimistic mentality are just a reflection of how broken things really are.
Basically, that I'm part of the Problem.

She says that I'm ******* in the wind in a river that's flowing downstream;
That I'll never be able to reconcile the difference between real life and just dreams.
That I'm swimming in ten different types of reality and the only one that should matter to me is the one I can't seem to see.

She says a lot of things,
but I've had it.
From here on out,
I'm not listening.