The saddest realization of all:
that happiness does not breed
romance.
Destined for solitude until
the need arises.
A meaningful day
within a meaningless life.
I accept your cordial invitation
to a humble doom -
to always fall back in love.
A wolfish grin tailored by sheep.
Something inside me
used to be angry;
I gnawed off it.
Something to listen to
on the way to everywhere -
nod with it.
Some pills that
spilt over my bedside
nodding off them.
Every now and then
I don’t hate myself,
but not often.
Flash -
the lightning grumbles.
Crash -
my thoughts crumble.
Something inside me
remembers the toast,
shit,
I'm not with it.
Do you ever wonder,
in a million voices
screaming at you;
hey,
why am I such a loser
piece of garbage?
And you know,
you know,
it’s coming from somewhere -
past, present,
whatever.
Then you realize,
it’s just one voice:
it’s just yours.
Even as you write
you know
you know
you can never share this
because relatable trauma only,
please.
I catch myself wanting
to break this bottle
over the teeth
of the fence directly left -
to sit and cry
a little,
but I’d just go back in
and buy another.
Also, I gave up crying
for lent,
permanently.
Hit one on the first floor,
because my muscle memory
says, “down.”
Have I really become so afraid
of intimacy that I’d sabotage
anything resembling
just so I could go get let
down.
How that bell rings
around my head:
You have it in you to die,
coward,
but not to live.
You’re lucky my guilt
outweighs my disgust.
Another stop,
a diversion,
another roadside
*,
the last great, big,
ball of barbed wire.
*attraction.
On the way
to your comfort zone:
*deep sigh* and
streeeetch -
going;
what grew inside you,
found you
missing.
Nah that’s cool,
shrugging lazily
and only half joking.
Several seconds pass,
many long-winded
metaphors, and
eight god damn
whiskey sours later....
Like eating grapes
off the vine. It
tastes less enjoyable,
but overwhelmingly
natural.
Like a coke dealer on
a netflix binge:
three days with no sale,
in love with the 80’s,
pass the ice.
I spent that time
listening
for someone to yell,
“Stop!”
Dispassionately poised
for an assault on
my character
to my back
and everything else
to my face.
Nothing happened,
but dammit beg,
for the question you
already know:
the fleeing happiness,
asking instead
for accomplishment
and society’s benefit.
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