The Future

I think a lot about killing myself, not like a point on a map but rather like a glowing exit sign at a show that’s never been quite bad enough to make me want to leave. See, when I’m up I don’t kill myself because, holy shit, there’s so much left to do. When I’m down I don’t kill myself because then the sadness would be over, and the sadness is my old paint under the new. The sadness is the house fire or the broken shoulder: I’d still be me without it but I’d be so boring.

I saw the future, I did, and in it I was alive.

Tomorrow is a lease I have to sign every morning.

When I’m down I don’t kill myself because then the sadness would be over, and the sadness is my old paint under the new. The sadness is the house fire or the broken shoulder: I’d still be me without it but I’d be so boring.

The Future has been at war, but it's coming home so soon; the future is the map and the treasure; the future looks like a child in a cape; the future is just like gravity: everyone is slowly drifting toward everyone else. We are all going to be part of each other one day...

The poem needs to speak for itself, and whatever you don’t like, you can change. Whatever you change, that will speak for itself too. The poem has to have a life of its own without you telling me what that life is.

When I was little I broke both my ankles jumping off a roof because I was sure a cape would enable me to fly. My parents attributed this to my strong imagination. Last year my therapist called it a delusion. I fail to see the difference.