Does that make sense?

It doesn’t matter

I don’t want to make sense

that’s the point

I want to feel…

…the necessary things

that makes me type

not that fake shit that tries to strangle

my fingers

Sometimes I think I have it

but I lose it

when I try.

I had it!

but I squeezed too hard

and now the butterfly is a

pulp in my palm

thirtyfive years…

I don’t feel old and I have plenty of time

to make sense of this nonsense

Nothing is more awkward than a

writer that can’t write

good.

I wasn’t a good person

I didn’t know what the hell

I was awkward 

and selfish

I didn’t bother with the rules

Though they fascinated me.

I stepped over most

Walked around

some

Bent a few

Those were good times.

It’s sometimes beautiful, at least

But mostly it’s

disturbing

I mean, what the hell were they thinking?

What do they want?

What do they get out of it?

Money?

maybe

Fame?

surely

Girls?

surly not

Men?

maybe

Everyone has those things

and in spades!

There’s no limit to them

So what’s the point?

They live as if nothing matters

which is true

nobody understands

except I

Am I the only one with feelings?

Why does the strut of a beautiful woman

make the earth shake

when the mountains are so far away?

and the sunset… all that crap

It must mean something

to someone

Who decided that

anyway?

An old decrepit looking thing

Half collapsed even a few years ago

Now fallen apart

it made me think about time

And that everything falls apart

or get burned down

eventually.

even beloved things

such as the Notre Dame

For a long time I wanted to draw it,

study the rotten beams and the

crumbled

pieces that barely held together

I never did

Maybe I did once

But I’ve forgotten

and now the barn is gone.

Time pass differently

for

different people 

randomly 

she messaged me

Because I have quite the catchy name

you see.

and we talked

I felt bold

Because I felt her desire,

I saw it on her face

and told her she was a slut.

My heart pounded and she didn’t deny it

she sent pictures

Not a lot of them

She still had some

self respect.

Then one day she wanted to meet

but I was too afraid

I’d put on airs that wasn’t me

I was delightful to her and

I was impressed that she wanted to meet.

It was a thrilling talking her, at first

I could say things

I never would’ve

but still we never met

came up with excuses

I think she chickened out too

at least once.

but she keeps inviting me

I’ll meet her now

now that I understand more how I feel

the consequences of what I say

to waste your time

Because there’s 

nothing

you ought to do.

You can sit down

in front of the

TV 

and nothing

would change

because 

life

doesn’t expect 

anything

of you

except keep living

which is hard enough

Most things are bad

and the good things never stay

for long.

I guess I’ll go out and find the

next

great

thing.

munching on the bones,

breaking them down

with my teeth.

It’s easy,

they cook the meat hard, you see

comes off easy.

And I realize that the phone

auto-corrects ‘fucking’ to ‘duckling’

I remember my graduation well

We didn’t go to bar.

There was a restaurant near the ocean

in a small harbour.

Not all places took cards, back then.

So half the people couldn’t drink.

My dad took me and some schoolmates

to the nearest grocery store

and took out some cash

My dad was the hero, that night

In a nice car

The hero status wasn’t extended on me

but that didn’t matter

I relished the drive 

because it meant I didn’t have to 

step into the madhouse

a while longer.