i am wrong

i can be my own best friend- and, i can be my own worst enemy...

tipping back my drink is an action i can make easily.

in fact, it is an action i can complete on repeat;
it's a bit scary.

it's hard to take charity when you feel unworthy.

it is difficult to feel competent when you know you're smarter than that.
when you understand that you are more intelligent
than every miscreant.

money and time spent.

her parents have come to "visit"- unexpectedly- again.

i want to strangle the both of them. i know if i were to spend
twenty minutes (or less) alone with them i would kill them
so hard.

it's so hard to lug this broken heart
around town. i want to drown.

i fill the bathtub up and curse my luck.

i hold my breath and swim shallow breadths- i toss my stale bread
out into the ocean for the birds and pelicans to feed upon.

i'm so confused. oh shit! it's dawn. and i am wrong.

post script: fuck the fact that baghdad is burning- my asshole is burning
and there is a lot more learning for me.

i feel not so much like a newborn baby but at least as if i am only three.
bright, big question marks light up my eyes

whereas the rest of my kind's eyes
are cha-chining with dollar signs.

such funny designs. such strange patterns.

i don't even remember writing this- last thing i remember
is listening to the drone of a dial tone,
popping a pill, then reading a review

for a movie

which said it was "delightfully witty"

i remember thinking "i wish somebody
would say that about me"

then i must have fallen asleep- it is now 6:43 in the morning
and i guess i have started mourning my broken heart early.



i can be my own best friend- and, i can be my own worst enemy...

tipping back my drink is an action i can make easily.

in fact, it is an action i can complete on repeat;
it's a bit scary.

it's hard to take charity when you feel unworthy.

it is difficult to feel competent when you know you're smarter than that.
when you understand that you are more intelligent
than every miscreant.

money and time spent.

her parents have come to "visit"- unexpectedly- again.

i want to strangle the both of them. i know if i were to spend
twenty minutes (or less) alone with them i would kill them
so hard.

it's so hard to lug this broken heart
around town. i want to drown.

i fill the bathtub up and curse my luck.

i hold my breath and swim shallow breadths- i toss my stale bread
out into the ocean for the birds and pelicans to feed upon.

i'm so confused. oh shit! it's dawn. and i am wrong.

post script: fuck the fact that baghdad is burning- my asshole is burning
and there is a lot more learning for me.

i feel not so much like a newborn baby but at least as if i am only three.
bright, big question marks light up my eyes

whereas the rest of my kind's eyes
are cha-chining with dollar signs.

such funny designs. such strange patterns.

i don't even remember writing this- last thing i remember
is listening to the drone of a dial tone,
popping a pill, then reading a review

for a movie

which said it was "delightfully witty"

i remember thinking "i wish somebody
would say that about me"

then i must have fallen asleep- it is now 6:43 in the morning
and i guess i have started mourning my broken heart early.