The bald boy dancing on the pole
is amazing
but I don’t want him.
Yet I want to fuck.
Want to be swept up in something
and forget what I am.
I drink.
I’m buzzed.
And I can forget the horrible weekend.
This is something close to what that bitch felt on Friday.
I dance and I sweat and I drink and I talk to the pretty girl named Ashley
who just broke up with her boyfriend of 4.5 years.
Men are dicks.
She and her friends talk about the balls on my chin.
I pretend that I’m normal.
I pretend that I don’t feel ill.
I smile and I laugh and it feels good even though it isn’t real.
When I leave I vomit on the sidewalk.
It tastes like pop rocks thanks to Sex on the Playground.
The Breathe Me song echoes in my head
and it won’t leave me alone
and I’m grateful.
These words pour out of me.
Typing is magic.
Written by Jason Wright
May 31, 2011
