I think about us sometimes.
But we don't get to me
like we used to.

Don't get me wrong—
I still feel the same as I did before.
But all those feelings are
distant now.
They're fading.

Whenever I try to remember us,
all the good and the bad
blend in my mind.

The individual memories can't be separated
because they're so far away from their inception.

I don't know you.
I barely know myself
anymore.

The main theme of this poem is um, triumph
So uh the secondary theme of this poem is defeat?
How could that be? Is that even what a poem is?
Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

Something crawls up from the drain through the ***** dishes and out of the sink. It grips me! It’s got me!

[This is the part I want to hide]

I saw a man so beautiful
Rarely is there ever a beautiful man--
a man so beautiful you want to kneel
and scream “You’re so beautiful!”
But instead I’ll worship him in the ways he insists:
by stepping aside on the sidewalk,
by laughing at the jokes he steals from me,
by squandering the money he pays me to do his job.

Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

It took me three to four years to learn
the difference between worshiping and begging,
between faith and belief
And now I have neither and engage in both and yet
My life feels like a free coffee and bagel
My life feels like an unwrapped candy bar
My life feels like a compliment from a stranger
My life feels like a birthday card with cash in it
Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

This is my once-yearly poem.
It’s like a broken perfume bottle at the bottom of my bag.
Look at it-- read it. Smell it.  Literal swill.  Most things make me feel sad, even more things make me feel threatened, especially this poem.
What is there to do but put my head in my hands?
What is there to say if not sorry?

A pulsating longevity awaits in the longing hours.
Tick.
Tick.
A sulphurous coverlet crawls up to my neck.
Tick.
Tick.
It’s dark at the windows; it claws at my throat.
Tick.
Tick.
Someone, come save me – I can’t breathe; I can’t cope.

The layers peel back, constellations on show –
I sit with this pain while it grabs its dark coat
On closer perusal, a face lingers close
Broken, ugly, no joy does it show

It takes my limp hand in a gentle caress – calloused, hardened, its gaze set on my chest

“Dear girl”, it does say, as the tears linger close, “your being in this world hasn’t quite found its home”
I grasp at this hand I don’t quite understand – it coaxes me forward in a promising demand.

“Make friends with this darkness – feel how it chokes. It has a message to share underneath its black cloak”

Trepid, shaken, I follow its lead
The cracks shatter open and all is revealed.

What is the point of getting drunk
Like it doesn't make sense to me
Why drink to the point you stumble
Why drink to the point you can't speak

Sentences half formed as the words sluggishly leave the lips laced seamlessly with the poison of alcohol,
smell of alcohol hugs tightly it seeming as though the words were being choked,
your message diluted in slurs and repetition.

The burning sensation as is slivers down the windpipe
The heat radiating through the chest dispersing to all corners of the body
This feeling is meant to feel good
This feeling is meant to be addictive
This feeling is meant to be the reason people drink?

Or is the reason people drink the effect
It causes you to forget slipping in and out of consciousness,
Memories half baked turning minutes to hours and hours to seconds,
Momentary flashes of event passed with no sense of order that must be pieced together the morning after
They drink to escape.

"I don't drink" is what I want to tell you
That me being able to distill, filter and brew on this topic lead to some sort of realisation,
That I don't conform to peer pressure or give in as I too fear of missing out,
So as I continue to live I also become addicted to society’s legal drug.
What’s your reason to drink?

Why are you afraid? Afraid of letting the world have your taste!
Zipped! Living in a bubble. No acquaintance with the world!
When did you lose the curiosity? It makes you alive

Your veil of ignorance makes you think they are monsters out to get to you
Look deep! Look deep!
The world is you & you are the world
It's a mirror reflecting back what's inside of you

Bring clarity! Bring clarity!
And tear away that veil
Look within, then look away
You may find yourself in a different being!

Sometimes the fondness
Of what we feel inside
Can't fill the void
Tragedy tries to hide

For we seem to long
For suffering, masquerading
As if it's happiness
We seek

But the irony's what's
Funny, 'cause the turmoil
Boasts of self-righteous
Anger

Where it's always someone
Else who is
To blame

And it's always us who's
Done the sacrifices
For the game

It's all nothing
But neediness, preparing us
To be accepting of what we ultimately are

Savages.