Find that broken red lawn chair. Sitting back with the spine twisted at an angle similar to certain yoga moves but without protective breathing. Tilt the head back and pry open the dusty shutters to observe a night sky that is never quite as dark as movies make it seem. Light and heavy pollution permeate. We breathe it in and allow stethoscopes on our shaved chests. We allow thin needles puncturing our skin in places that need to be numbed. Then lose consciousness and faint like a sissy in the waiting room, amidst the same crumpled magazines that were beyond reach years ago, they no longer give me a sticker as reward, this time a compliment and something like awe about how much I took on the features of my parents and the weird flicker in their eyes, 15 years later, that I've turned out in such a way. If they were to understand or die... I would never know. I will never return.
I can't shake the feeling that this has never happened before.
Spinning glowsticks and dancing like a careless mess, she turns her head toward me with a faulty acknowledgement. No, fallen angel, I've never met you unless on that evening I was as drunk as you are tonight. I generally tend to avoid belligerence on weekends when I'm out among people. Truthfully I barely deem myself worthy of the freedom. My mind is such a jungle gym and I juggle so many responsibilities, some of which are obviously irrelevant and self-deprecating.. Either way, my mind is a busy superhighway at night in a black out with 40,000 broken head lamps and cut brakes, everything screeching and swerving. Some days in intimate company I find myself as drunk as you, my dear. Your hair disheveled. Your face a painted smile. I envy your escape. Your solace. It's temporary and shame on you if you did not know that. I guess that's where the problem rests in me. I can't shake the feeling of imminent horrible morning. I can't forget where I am.. who I am. Some nights it would definitely help to be fucking absurd. Not to allow strange social conditions to disallow me a great time. Another thing, darling, I know you're barely listening, with all of the alcohol in your system your attention span is limited to immediate physical desires, sex with attractive person (perceived) and a bathroom because you've consumed so much liquid, but the part that turns off your filter remains in your blood until your grumpy liver filters it full circle.... One more thing though... The price! My god, have you ever imagined such an expensive can of confidence? These things are not for the poor and it is very clear that our value systems are warped when a PBR tallboy costs a grown man $11. You'd have to sell two records for one. How silly. We lose. We all lose. Oh, what's that? Your daddy pays for everything? Sugar daddy? Rich boyfriend? Sex for money and drinks? This must be a triple digit bill for how drunk you are, no offense. You'll have to do something special once you exit this delirium you've entered. That spiral vortex that will land you, safely, into the bed, the arms, of a strange man whom you've just met. Be young, lady. Be on your way. I'm not the man you think I am. I'm much better than him. I wish I could ask you to communicate your secrets to me. How can you let go so freely? Is it a mindset or a metabolism?
