At the party,
with the cool kids.
They laughed with me
And called me their friend
Then they laughed at me
When i fell, too high to see.
I got home late
And called my father names.
I made my mother cry
And passed out, my head on the toilet seat.*
And wrote a poem.
It was a love poem,
Then it became angry and devolved
Into an essay on loneliness.
I had the munchies and ate peanuts
Then I fought my sister.
I misplaced my term papers,
Called my class teacher a slut
And got suspended for the term.
My poem caught an eye
And I became a star.*
And jumped off a bridge,
landed in a bottle of whiskey.
I drowned myself in liquor
Before the pressure could kill me.
I smoked more blunts,
Then I drank some and chewed on some.
I got too high, I flew close to the sun.
My wings got burnt and now I'm here
Listening to you complain
About the redness of my eyes
And the stale sweat hanging in
The atmosphere of my room.*
But it is not really it, is it?
It is not the pain that hides behind the smile
or the smile that hides behind the tiredness.
It is not even a poem or a song,
It is just weed, you know
But it doesn't really heal the hurt now, does it?
I dragged and dragged that blunt
But I'm still here, still rocking
On my knees, before my bed,
Crying tears that I never knew I had.*