Small Talk

How’ve I been?

I’m dying

To be fair

We all are

So why do I

[We]

Languor on like this?

Am I truly howling mad?

For screaming out

Into the void

Hoping that

Even as I cough up blood

From the effort

That more than empty echoes resound

To be honest I don’t know what I expect

Validation? Keys? $200 for passing go?

Maybe it’s this pathetic fucking malaise

This stench of depression

That’s colored everything yellow

Like a fuck-all-poor-me-patina

There is no meaning

There is no plan

There’s just the next breath

The next obligation

The downhill momentum

Pay me no attention

Remember the next time you complain

When someone talks about the weather

And you yearn for heartfelt truth

THIS is a distinct possibility

I’m good…it’ll pass

Just like this shitty weather