Fragments of a song break into my room
a few doors down a maniac is in heat,
I know intuitively
a college student who has posters of ‘Breaking Bad’
slapped on his front door
‘Wow, you are so cool,’ I want to say to him,
every time I pass by,
but I haven’t.
I don’t pick fights,
path of least resistance is my path.
I feel lonely all of a sudden
the walls of your room can make you feel safe
for a while,
like ice cave of a polar bear.
The comforting hum of the air-conditioning,
the smooth creamy walls,
the porcelain floor,
the familiar objects around, scattered in a mysterious order —
their spatial positions known to me like an astronomer
(I am Galileo of my apartment)
right here, paraphernalia of a life — my life.
Safe — such a strange word
safe from who?
safe from all that is out there
— the struggles of the world, the god awful heat,
the rushing mad people secretly hating each other,
and you hating them, not so secretly.
Sometimes, I think a lot — if any addition, or mutation
will fuck this going concern up.
something small, like a cat?
or something big, like a marriage?
Change, that fucking bitch.
I am getting older,
I stare at the mirror seconds longer to see the signs
and I fantasize that I am not,
that by some magic everybody else is
and I am not (gene mutations, possibly),
that I shall outlive everybody else till the day of apocalypse
and look young forever.
“how mature!,” my reflection in the mirror mockingly shakes its head
and I sigh.
In this place, you get scared of yourself —
your being, your self,
out of nowhere a want erupts,
scraping at your insides
or a longing awakens, snaking its way through your brain,
an accusing aspiration:
you could be so much, but you are not
often, a familiar face swims before your eyes
and your shoulders slouch from the baggage of guilt,
heavier than it was the last time.
You should call them, make things right,
but it has been too long.
It is already late, and what’s the point anyways?
weren't they mean and vicious too?
and you do nothing, except try to position the pillow more comfortably under your head
most troubling, is an erection which you cannot rub away (however much you try)
and then the illusion of safety is gone..
Strangely, I am getting used to all of this
is everything fine?
Yes, yes it is
I want to get away from the thoughts, this circular sprint
So, I decide to go out,
I unlock my front door and step away
the air has a warmth to it
the music is bellowing still.
I walk past the college boy’s door and turn to the stairways to climb down
I can’t stop wishing that his ceiling collapses and he fucking dies.