blowin skunk gettin crunk

Here is a poem from January.


"the weight of glass"

it was a long shot philosophy

not that anything

can save anyone

why try?

because there is boredom

and there is bitterness

and suicide isn’t so simple

it is its own god

a beautiful nurse, or a muse

or a delusional blustery frog

there we were, it was cold

we were outside, smoking

and i looked at you like

you would live forever, like

nothing but me should touch you, forever

it’s just that if

suicide doesn’t get me, you’ll

die before me, probably

i ignore the world, i ignore

the chill, the thrill, the call

in my heads is a pregnant deity, i

am just so much wasted potential

if you see words

they were words, but also

something else, but probably nothing

it’s all nothing, really

we’ll shoulder our collapse, we’ll be ready