tonight
feels more like new years eve,
for some reason.
I read all of these broken blogs
used like
dirty
therapists
like and unfinished novels
they remain
--forgotten.
wouldn’t it be nice
if we could use words
to pick each other up
and throw each other into walls?
slam.
we all need to be loud
to be noticed.
no one tip toes
around this fucking place anymore.
we’re all writing novels
living our own drama
being rock stars.
P r A o R d u T c t
we’re all little hero’s
--it’s Disney’s fault.
before you ask if i’m cynical:
are you really truly happy?
slam.
I am god’s gift to the earth.
did you hear me?
I glorify self-deprecation.
i’m that paper thin male
with jet black hair
messy hanging straight
like the rusty railroad tracks
I pose next to.
tears are falling into
our consciousness
flooding
an entire culture
with even more
ferocity than
Katrina.
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