i used to have friends.
some came in my first universe and lasted until the 7th.
some were just my friends
from zenith or 11th street
new york is just a grid
but chicago never did
forsake me
like my bottom faked me
what is wrong with me
that she forgotten me?
now we start again.
i used to be good at constructing
poetry
like a gnome– i groan, just roam. fuck you, i ohm.
until i’m grown
i swear i’m grown.
so i used to have friends
we were the “begays”
a salutation to a grandma
who said “behave”
but i’ll never have it, dad.
been 26 and still bad.
i found change for a dollar–
and still so sad.
depressed.
it’s so hard to be had.
you said you want me so BAD.
i do.
change for a dollar
is now all we have.
you want me to channel your powers
and i count the hours
i have you.
you want me to caress all your muscles
and i feel the struggle
i want you.
but you’ll never know
the weakness you owe
me.
no.
you’ll never know
you owe me.
you owe ME.
YOU FUCKING OWE ME.
OWN ME.
karma is a crazy bitch
just like you–
and stitch.
just like you
and rich.
just like you
and dick.
just his dick.
blagh.
anyway,
you want a part of this story
so you channel my glory
and paste it back on to me.
don’t you fall short of me–
i’d be so sad.
you think i don’t know
i’m just trying to think of the show
that MATTERS.
not the one i hear under my ears
that CLATTERS.
same old shit.
and i surmise,
a thousand years later
you’ll meet–
the fucking “love of your life”
and you’d totally hate her
and probably date her.
after all of THIS?
I’D BE SO FUCKING SAD.
i used to have fucking friends.
