I Wouldn't Even Know Where To Start

Every expletive ever.

RIP.

A Poem About Self-Hatred

"Hello. I'd like to place an order for delivery."

I Know You Were (The Poetry of Bullshit)

I know you were staring

at the wall, at the ceiling, empty bed, cold comforter,

the regrets of a lifetime

traced by eyes
upon the cracks in plaster,

the shoddy drywall work of a now------------forgotten Guatemalan

who spent a day
in your future bedroom

thinking about a wife back home

unseen in almost a decade

doing subpar drywall work (but only on that day)

in YOUR future HOME.

Where was I?

Regrets, cracks in plaster,

you staring
and I know what you are wondering about.

According to the NEW YORK TIMES,

it's ok

turtlenecks are "cool" again.

The next Juan will fix your paint job.

You don't have to regret that impulse purchase

made at Lord and Taylor

so many years ago.

No longer a vague shame.

Another soul is saved.