much too late for magic eight balls or tarot
or midnight conversations on the couch or African
drum beats. the periods divide the thoughts
divide the heartbeats the pen is much much
easier to hold. we gamble on love again and lose
as usual. we are far too used to it now. i will
not censor myself for you or you or you. i am
loud music late into the night. i am infinite
numbness and the crucifixion nightmare.
look up on the hill and see my head hanging
and my chin resting on my chest. i am
siphoning wine up from the wound under
my rib into my mouth and developing an addiction
to my own blood. i was a love drunk nightmare!
i hate every use of the exclamation mark, and
despise loneliness. i slice my shin meat open wide
as i tumble down onto the broken glass. i am
broken stuck inside a broken place. i am wondering
when it will end. i have always had trouble
being vulnerable. god forbid i am not ok.
that is ugly and i would not like that.
Robert Mayo is a senior at Columbia College studying English Literature. When he’s not writing, he likes to run, do improv and pet his dog.