I spend the first half hour of every morning killing myself with cigarettes and coffee
only to spent the rest of the day trying to feel like I’m not dying.
This is what we do.
Build something up and then knock it down.
Write half a poem and then crumple the paper.
Repeat until you’re surrounded by overflowing garbage cans
and clutter the cats will bat around the room.
Create a life for yourself and then change directions.
Leave the state.
Move in with someone that doesn’t love you.
Compartmentalize.
Pretend that works until you move back.
Pivot, change directions again.
Build another life.
Change cars and phones and hairstyles.
Stop running;
Gain weight.
Become a different person:
Build something new,
Continue smoking,
Have another cup of coffee,
Set goals,
Immediately ignore them.
Become the thing you hate.
Accept that loathing into your life;
Hold it dear because nothing else is that close to you.
Build up walls.
Develop a hard outer shell.
Buy another pack.
Wheeze through your days,
caffeinated and dehydrated,
until someone comes along
to shock you with the realization
that sometimes destruction
is its own form of creation.
You have to break down to the foundation
to properly build anything lasting,
more permanent.
Something you don’t have the capacity
to walk away from.
Stub out that cigarette.
Breathe in your new surroundings and finally agree to stay.
