Friday Nights Are For Pizza And Poorly Placed Poetry

This is
something.
But not what you would think.
Would you...
think of me if I wasn't there?
worry about me when I wasn't safe?
wonder what happened to me when I was long gone?

This is
the nothing.
The beginning.
The end.
The part of the middle where we both know that it's not going as we wanted it to, but at least one of us thinks we may still have a chance.
This is never.

This is the part where I say to you, "Eat shit and die."
But...
I don't really mean it because if you did, then who would I have to talk to?
Silence can be lonely.

God is the one with the big stick telling me that I need to walk quietly or some other kind of shit.

And you keep screaming.
I scream back.
But maybe you can't hear me?
What?
Why?
Don't you know I'm answering you?


Answer me.