bell curve

the hardest part of every day is letting yourself disappear. become something different. drink some cream soda. have a candy-coated chocolate. imagine the sun as a perfectly fried egg. wish you were here. or somewhere else. have a dream which ends with your death. the worst part about dying is that most people only get to do it once. there’s a whole aisle at the grocery store you won’t get to try. hanging? exsanguinating? drowning! think of the breakfast cereals and frozen dinners you would miss if you could only go down each laneway of shopping cart traffic once. heart attacks. dog attacks. shark attacks! the women you’d miss out on if you stuck with one from the first time your heart palpitated around her. all the night-time mistakes (which, everyone knows, are the best kinds) you would lose if you had one night and slept the rest away, safe in your blankets and the knowledge that there are no such things as cloakers but still somehow people manage to suffocate in their sleep. aneurisms. electrocution. overdosing! and all the feelings of success and regret you would miss out on if you lived your life safely. working. breeding. saving. dying. dying. dying. the old don’t die of age; they die of missed opportunities with ‘big titted blonde’ at the deli counter and ‘i can see the shape of his dick’ in the liquor store line. i won’t miss. i’ll never miss. or maybe i’ll miss it all just to feel the moist, sweet, metallic taste of bad aim.

looking for love through a stranger’s window

i’ve lost touch with it all. where do i go

crippling loneliness

i am no one’s dream boat. i am a raft falling apart. timbers spreading uncomfortably across a lake surface. drifting, driftwood, useless and disconnected. you could cling to me to stay afloat, until the current took you down.