6.19.17

i want to wake up

and have the morning

be clear

and my face

not under pressure

like my skin feels

it’ll burst. Tiredness

is the addiction

no one talks about,

the pandemic, insomniacs

with bad breath and lucid dreams,

we swallow up the night

and receive retribution

in the morning, staying sleepless

so long that late becomes early,

drinking beer like acrimony, a popped

tab for every broken promise,

every promise broken and

mangled, piled in the aluminum

heap of crushed cans in the wastebasket.

Look, fuck you. i wasn’t always this bad.

there was a time not too long ago

when i gave a shit

enough to capitalize words

speak without stuttering

punctuate

bother to make sense

of the garbled junk that is

my brain.

but now is the great decay.

for you who are not me

lay back, enjoy the spectacle,

the man who spends his days

fantasizing about genius,

drinking beer at noon and

melting

slices of American cheese onto

a multitude of foods.

tomorrow is the promise.

tomorrow things will improve

and i will wake up fresh-faced,

ready to use proper judgement,

to make proper decisions, tomorrow

everything will return to its right place

and I will be myself again.

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Written at 11:38 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA.