30

You know how sometimes

The love of your life is snoring

Fully asleep beside you

And you can’t stop thinking about

Pushing a 1.6mm needle

Through the most intimate part

Of their body?

You know how sometimes

One time

You live out your first full day

As a thirty year old person?

You know how sometimes

You don’t want night to come

You don’t want morning to come

Because it will break the bubble

The tender bubble of time

Where you two are all and only

Where questions and trials are held

At bay?

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One paper done and submitted. One left to go, due tomorrow. (but I have a tour tomorrow night so I have to finish it before that) And this one is for my super annoying picky as fuck professor who likes to give me shit and fuck with my grades over tiny little formatting errors, while simultaneously praising my mastery of the material. *sarcastic thumbs up emoji* So I’m sort of more nervous about this one than I was about the longer one because basically this paper is prrrobably going to decide whether I get an A or B in the class. That shit makes me nervous. I have a lot of feelings. Like… dude. Feelings all up in this fucking piece. The skin around my eyes feels sore and raw. It’s very distracting when your brain plays worst case scenarios on an endless loop in the background of all of your thoughts constantly forever. It makes it really hard to get shit done, honestly. Also, fuck Tennessee Williams, honestly. I fucking know that being alive is a horrifying experience, and that the illusions we cling to can never truly save us from that sense of quiet desperation that we harbor in our dark hearts. I fucking know, okay? It’s like… obvious. I never, ever, for any reason, ever in my life, need to read, or see, a whole ass depressing ass play about it. Why couldn’t you write some shit about finding joy in the crevasses, or cautious optimism, or the way the terrible wonder of the universe can suddenly hit you, fully, when you’re driving down a city street as the sun goes down, and the street light in front of you turns yellow, replacing the sun for the span of three breaths just as it slips below the mountains. And you almost want to pull over, because you just feel it all welling up inside of you, the liquid light of a billion exploded stars singing in your blood, but you have a place to be, so you just turn your music up a little louder and sing your favorite line. Or like… he coulda written about some cute ass dogs or something.

Snide

Committing fraud in the evening

All covered in soil

They eat what they eat but

We’re here to destroy

And the bones in the basement

They’re not about us

All these poems are displacement

They’re not about us

But the hollow point is

The howling harrowing hanging part is

Or it’s not and it’s dust

It’s borrowing so much but never enough

For the cooling silk side

The lavender throw

Occluding light with unseasonable snow