Fail.
Fail.
OMG I'M SO ALONE AND ISOLATED OMG I CAN'T ENTERTAIN MYSELF OMG I CAN'T FUNCTION WITHOUT EVERYONE AROUND OMG I'M SO BORED WHAT EVER WILL I DO!!?!?!?!?
I was at a department store the other day buying clothes. The cashier asked me if I'd like to keep my hangers. I replied, "No, I'm fine." She put her hand on her hip. "I didn't ask you how you were, I asked you if you wanted your hangers." My brother saved the day, clarifying that I was fine without the hangers. They then continued to converse about her kids.
please take me away from here.
the need in me dies.
i sit here with my headphones on and no music playing.
The Answer
When asked about life, the universe and everything, I promptly regurgitate, “42.”
The universe used to do things to me. It let me find five dollar bills on the ground (littered with cigarette butts) just outside the grocery store. It allowed for the frequent “faggot” insults cast in my direction. It spun the world ‘round and ‘round.
I was rendered breathless by the power, the importance behind such a number. Actually, it was the nihilism that scared me. The meaninglessness.
Parking spaces at our high school were numbered. It functioned like a lottery: seniors would get the lowest numbers and the ones closest to the main doors. This, in my opinion, was ridiculous. Whenever I had a chance, (and whenever it was left unoccupied) I sat in a certain parking space after school. The same one. Somehow I thought that just sitting there on the molten asphalt would enlighten me. Some profound wisdom would be bestowed upon me. I could then stand up, brush off my pants, and walk away with a smile upon my face.
This never happened. And the universe was at fault.this is my fantasy
a sickly-sweet melody
made of cardboard boxes
and the reassuring glances of my neighbors
so love a lee
presently
gimmee that key
i would like you to see
how big that effing hole is--
the one in that door over yonder
so full of opportunity
momentarily
i'm sure we'd disagree
because there is no guarantee
of a perfect perfect planet
and your reflection in a perfect perfect mirror
so transparent with reality
impossibility
is the first thing you see
idunno
unassuming, awkward, desperate?
because actually it's the button on a trench coat
or a prickly vine under an overpass
which, if they were to try hard enough,
could hide even the slightest
lip-twitch.
even that river in london
(so cold)
is totally undoubtedly irrevocably completely temporary.
i read something somewhere
about a man who did not know where he was going--
and every time he set foot out the door,
the very same journey awaited.
and there's a reason to notice things.
there's a reason to stand perfectly still.
there's a damn reason.

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