I’m a boyish
mess.
A boasting contest
with an inferiority
complex.
I can’t make friends.
I’ve got an
eager desperation
to be up on
“what’s next.”
I have too much
sex.
I say it’s ’cause
I’m anxious
and I’m
overly stressed.
I can’t take blame.
I funnel through
liquor
and spit up my pain.
I’m no good
with fame.
There’s a love/hate
relationship
with noise
in my brain.
Except
for when
you speak my name.
Because you take it in vain.
(Take it in vein!)
I could fall asleep
here.
Crawl inside
the sleeping bags
undеr your eyes.
But I stay
awake
to mеmorize.