Oblivion

His thoughts were as much his enemies as were his enemies, but he often couldn’t tell the difference. What was real, what was fiction? His thoughts helped him, plagued him, haunted or taunted him. How was he to finally deploy them in the service of the good and not just in the service of his own destruction?

He was an asshole, got in fights, arguments, said things he shouldn’t, fucked up friendship after friendship. Sometimes, he thought about how soon one would go south. He could feel the triggers of annihilation bubbling up: he felt his irritability, anger, and muscular angst. One text could ruin months of built trust and care.

For a time, he gave up caring, thought that the human connections were pointless, meaningless and ephemeral. Each time, he realized he was wrong. He could not abandon this world. He had to come to terms with his behavior and find a way out, some way out, whatever that might be.

Sometimes, he felt his life to be a cascading series of fuck ups that couldn’t be stopped, snowballing into some future fiery oblivion that he tried everyday to stave off, some days successfully, sometimes futilely. He knew that he would have to change something, or make a change, or lose everything someday, little by little.

This is not the life he wanted to live, and he knew he still had so much to learn and do and improve on.

Hubcaps

They spent the night outside. Half of them were drunk, the other hungover from the night before. Trying to escape the police, they had found an alleyway somewhere nearby where they wouldn’t be bothered. Homeless, they did not have anywhere else to go.

“Do you have any food?” Tilly asked.
“None for you, but the shelter opens early tomorrow,” Mario answered

A speeding car whooshed past, one headlight on, the hubcaps gone, stolen somewhere in this godforsaken place.

The motto read “Water, Wealth, Contentment, Health,” but all Tille could think was “Drought, Poverty, Disappointment, Illness.”

“Who decided the motto anyways?” She thought to herself. A dog barked nearby, and a chain link fence rattled. Mario took out a joint and a little weed and passed the early morning hours.

Lonely Nights

Don’t forget these nights, these lonely nights: these count, too; these count too

When all the booze is gone

I am not a happy man,

when all

the

bo

oze

is

go

ne

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Past Time

I sat there,

Smoked a cigarette

And thought about

A life I no longer

Lived