9/13

bloodshot eyes,
putting on deodorant in the basement of the physics building,
drinking a lukewarm coffee,
while neglecting my dying electronics.

chipped red nail polish,
dancing to Beck across the hall from powerful lasers,
thinking in too many languages,
while taking Mumbai-made anti-narcoleptic magic.

shivering fingers,
laying on couches caked with chalk,
smelling plants to see if they're real,
while wondering if I might just be dreaming,

or if that matters at all?

9/8

Maybe next year I'll be running a marathon to sweat it out instead of swallowing it,
Maybe next year I can say I've started to pay my loans back beyond the interest accrued,
Maybe next year I'll find comfort in others as opposed to fear of pain's reprisal,
Maybe next year I'll be studying theoretical photochromic energetics,
Or,
Maybe next year I'll be working at the DMV wanting to die for different reasons.