final notes

The manufactured fun – the manufactured confidence. It’s enough to drop them as cubes into deep sadness. It’s enough to hold them up until first light, filling voids in the voids of dark corners in unfitting nooks of the night. Effortless tears and forced dancing – shows for different crowds, same truth for the observers.

Insecure hedonism – and everybody stands, wondering where their looks went when the stares stutter – when the needs begin – a tank of misunderstanding, and still more pain. The competition is a silly bout of former champions. The emptiness is inside the wet ring left by the engagement of sweat and sheets, left behind, looking forward to awkward interactions. Altercations between self-respect, guilt, and what’s expected – fit for lockered hallways and today’s lessons. Don’t forget what you learn – give attention to what you can learn – it’ll get you breathing on the mouth of meaning, and you won’t have to struggle to hold on to childhood. Even kids know when something is wrong with adults.

You went wrong. It’s the right day to leave. It’s gone, and it’s gone. Pick a spot for a chorus of broken promises. If you can hear the warm, weak beat beneath the flimsy ribs, you surely hear the howling dirge. Hum it in my absence.