The door closes softly— I closed it
It’s an odd lock, was it two turns or three?
I pull the handle, I have to be sure
She’s taking the elevator down— I’ll sleep alone
Out on the balcony, I wait to watch her walk out of sight
She waves and even from this far away I know she doesn’t want to leave
but part of me has been waiting for a lonely night
I need to do this alone
It’s been sitting, waiting for me
I’m not sure any of this is necessary
but I wrote the ending
I have to play it out
I pull the headphones up under my shirt, insert the jack
and my thumb slides around the circle
All the way to the letter T
because you see,
I smoked my first while listening
and there’s poetry in life
Sometimes it has to be made
Other times it’s a free-flowing river
The wheel of the lighter flicks the flame alive
It sounds like thunder
but not terror, no it’s like the thunder in a stadium
WE ARE ALL CHEERING FOR IT
Okay, fine, inside of me is a feeling,
It feels bigger than it is
This is important
(except it’s not)
This is vital
(except it’s not)
I fucking need this
(except I know I don’t)
and then the first taste was stale
The thing was crumbled and wrinkled
and it tasted like dirt, sun-dried pale dirt
That was a gift
Because if it was pleasant, it would have been harder
Sometimes everything falls into place
when I flicked that thing, the final flick,
Few things have ever been that satisfying
While still feeling…
Anti-climatic
