What if I’m making her squeam in her chair?
What if my arm’s hurting her poor shoulder?
What if she minds those red shirts that I wear?
What if it leaves… the smile I left on her?
What if she does not adore my parents?
What if my parents just don’t adore her?
What if I made my thoughts too apparent?
What if she finds the poems I wrote for her?
What if she’s lying for fear of feelings?
What if she’s doing this all out of spite?
What if they’re always cold and begrudging?
What if I’ve done no wrong, but she’s still right?
What if they find out I’m making this list…What if I’m thinking too much about this?
shielded dark rain
searching for friends
Am I retarded?
after allnobody seems to do these things but me
and i’m still standing in cold
I awoke from dreaming my ex’s non-existent baby was aborted. First instinct was to go for my phone’s mind-blinding light, but today I’ll try awake. An hour later, I collect enough desperation to move hollow muscles out of the bunk and navigate to my lazy hard chair. I feel the needles on the floor that bar entrance to any friend I’d ever consider letting in. My roommate either doesn’t care or notice them, or is as stupid as I am.
On a failed to-do list is to take medicine, call back psychiatrist, do extended chemistry, save world. But I’m too something to do anything. I’ll dive into hard, cold circuses and continue to forget something I’ve already succeeded in forgetting. I’m my own man now, free from fantasies of social justice and goals. I turn to the laptop and sleep the rest of the day.