it’s all spectacle
turning, turning
turning
somehow
it all feels like
nonsense
with nothing left to believe in
except youtube videos
convenience store pizza
and several glasses of beer
sometimes
i remember those nights
and the promises that seemed
everlasting
well
not so much
it’s hard to keep those eyes straight
i’ve smoked far too many cigarettes
wandering hopelessly
and i haven’t changed my clothes for two days
with teeth sharp and eyes blurry
i shamble onto the next adventure

it’s almost funny how
my coordination is too disrupted to type
and
at this moment
i don’t really care
hopefully something good will come of all this
chaos
gathering the meaningless energy
and chasing
pointless and unending pursuits
of “the normal life”
i think it’s fair to say that
drunks don’t write well
when we are cold
and
uncaring
and what is this “we”
i keep speaking of
theres always someone else
lurking behind the scenes
with me
incomplete, and
I feel that sometimes
i am trapped in this collective
it’s hard to explain after a six pack
plus one

i know this is not much
but it’s the best i can do at this point