Looking

One day we’re going to leave this ritualistic
Pit which your wrists lit
and find something cleansed

Back to the Streets

concubinage
Drips from urban euphoria's
Genitals
And We're all a rave
of concave
whimpering waves
if they wash over us enough
maybe we'll learn to behave.

He's such an intelligent dude

'actions belittle intentions'

So.

I got in a wreck today.

I hit the head of the psychology department at UNCG

Oh the agravating irony

Loss

So I stood in the hallway leading to the bathroom trying frantically to find some kind of piece of mind. He always bounces back I told myself and breathed as regularly as I could. He’ll be fine. He is fine. There was no justification for this reason, I just accepted it timidly and weakly walked throughout the store trying to busy myself with folding clothing or running over potential scenarios over my head. I had called my dad and told him that he was shot. It was a disconcerting conversation. He didn’t seem surprised at all. After what seemed hours of pointless cycles of thought and trying to comfort myself, she called. She asked if I was still at work, and if I was when would I get off. The apprehension was tangible. It was another person in the room taunting me in a sadistic manner. The concept of inevitability began to expand in the back of my mind, until I could feel as if my sanity was teetering. She arrived. Called me. She asked me to come outside. I asked her if she had found out anything more than what I had been told regarding the situation and she only said I needed to come outside. It was only a matter of time now as I told everyone good night and began to walk out of the store. She was sitting in the Suburban, and in retrospect they seemed darker than usual. What was with all of this secrecy? I just want to know what’s going on! She got out of the car, and walked toward me. I don’t know if she started crying before or after she told me. It doesn’t matter. I asked her what she knew of the situation.
‘Is he alive?!’
She shook her head. A movement of the head has never held so much weight.
‘NO!’ I shouted uncontrollably, moving as if I was going to punch the ground in response to my news. I shuffled about erratically for a moment. My mom made me sit down on a bench with her. She spoke of how he was with God as if this were a comfort to me, as I sat in the back of the Suburban. I muttered bitterly about how the things she was talking about weren’t real. I got out of the Suburban. I got into my car. I sobbed and swore in a more pathetic fashion then I ever have or likely ever will. Driving home listening to a rock band called Interpol. Cursing life for the awful set of circumstances it had dealt, and I think, somewhere in my mind, cursing myself for not preventing it somehow. Insanely enough, I went to work the next morning. I felt a cavernous rendition of the person that had been intact less than a day before. I felt a hollow pain then I knew was here to stay. I felt backstabbed by life for it robbing me of my best friend. I felt aged. I felt gone. People say that you typically grieve for four seasons. I don’t subscribe to such a clean cut version of mourning. I believe permanent loss can permanently change a person. I have seen nothing to the contrary.