it's late at night, i feel by myself, inaudibly whimper as not to appear rude,

funnily enough, desolate parking lot, in a golf cart, under a light post - in complete solitude,

last roommate, and soon to be leaving,

so there you have it - call it a poem, or simply preemptive grieving,

so there you have it, feel like a professional mixture of feces and phlegm,

my last buddy, last connection, last support - last all of them,

just deal with this pettiness, via a harmless pall mall,

i'll be fine, especially compared to the average kid in juvenile hall,

i can still hear faint music playing on the golf course - the rain drops,

feel awkward, like running through the desert in flip-flops,

feel stupid, like skydiving and aiming for tree-tops...

non-existent love, like god or santa clause,

this is it, coming clean like sterile patches of gauze,

i should stop being a baby, stop bitching about this nominal loss,

stop wasting my time on crap, like the inventors of virtual pizza sauce,

stop, stop being dumb like cutting oneself and taking tylenol,

stop going nowhere meaningful, like last month's booty call,

cease, stop loving expansion, like urban sprawls,

hate the sun, careless for the coast - pathetically, yet not inextricably, surrounded by beach balls...

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