i can't wait to grow up

my body is failing
i am on the verge of death or tears
nothing can be recorded or recalled
i am so empty yet so full of terrible things
this is the wrong time for me
i am a terrible thing to say
i can speak to neither of you
there is no motivation, no hope

every sense is transparent form when i'm happy
every promise from every bad feeling to be fulfilled at a later date
i'm about to get drunk and i don't or i do and get sick
i will dance with everybody and we will all touch each other
i just want us to lay on each other
and let our feelings extend out into mountain ranges

considering going to bed on my kitchen table in jean shorts and shoes

the height of my literary reputation will be separate camps
debating who i let down, how i failed as a writer and in what ways

i was listening to a singer who sounded like a sad pig
the song was heartbreaking it had a guitar solo

'women's journalism'

i'm shirtless vindictive prick
snotnosed asswipe i oughta piss my pants
making love - "buttsex" - just a leather jacket
and hands clapping spit and snear
i get kicked out of every narrative i step into