my head on the concrete
dropped down and there is
silence and peace
and its half of how it feels
to be dying
the holidays this year
are worse than my birthday

i'll pretend that i
am not as selfish
as i think that you suppose
and though i'm lying here
stale fish flailing my fins in the air
i'm not as helpless
as i think that you know
and i wish that you'd know
that i am fair

i do not segregate my immense dislike
in colors or in codes
in fashion or in folks
its just that everything
feels like a thusday
between my job
and bounced checks
and loans and moans
feels like everything is out to hurt me