I get emotional
when I’m loaded.
So let me talk and
you listen, and
if things get unbearable
shut your eyes, take cover,
picture in that beautiful head
of yours the purest place
in the universe.
Your place of solace
is not here, I know that.
How could you be at
peace with a man
who has no idea who he is
and so he does whatever he can
to escape you, to suffocate himself.
I don’t like this.
I don’t like myself.
I don’t care to pretend.
I don’t remember how to do the simple things that make us happy.
I do what I can.
I seek you out like a bottom feeder
cruising at lightless depths,
in deepest night,
when half the world is either asleep or dead,
I get sensitive when I’m loaded,
and I think it’s safe to say I miss you.
The easy thing to do is walk away. If
that is the kind of person you want to be,
then fine, do it.
But remember how you’re leaving me.
Burn this image into your brain, and
when you’re older and more alone than even
I am now, think about what it is you
did. I am not a coward.
I get brave when I’m loaded. Right
now, sitting in this fuckall nothing-
burger of a town, in the lobby of a hotel
in Dipshit, CA where outside the
dry summer grass sounds like ocean waves
as it makes love in the wind, right now
while the man behind the counter wonders
what terrible set of events must have happened
to a man like me, redfaced, and clearly loaded
with not a single person remaining to push away, thinking
I don’t want to ever be that guy–right now, I can say,
with absolute honesty,
that you are the only thing I miss in this world,
really, the only thing is you.