It goes like this.
You were there, right?
In the middle of it,
right in the very thick of it,
drink in hand
(this is what people do
talking. Nodding your head and saying
Yeah, yeah, yeah,
like you’re supposed to do and
here you are and
this was supposed to be the one that made
it all better,
the gathering of human bodies and
so many stories in this room
but it isn’t any better because
you’re still You,
You’re still here saying things you think are so clever
and thinking you’re just a little bit better than everyone else and
(Now I’ll show you my tattoo
Now I’m calling you dude)
it never is any better.
you swallow what’s left in your glass,
throw another experience over your shoulder and
head for the door.
You wander around some dirty streets for a while
you notice the bugs crawling along the pavement
because you’re kind of like that and
you trip over some broken glass and eventually find
your way back home.
You stumble through the door and
take off your pants and sit down to do the only
two things you’re good for:
suffering for no good reason
and writing it down.