it makes me nervous, being alive

with great power comes great responsibility,

and somehow I find myself with power.

Who would ever think it a good idea,

to trust me with responsibility?

But they did, and it makes me nervous,

knowing I'm a screw-up,

knowing that they trust me.

And they, they act like they'll see me,

but we know it's not true.

After this week, I'm leaving.

My life will be different,

my time not my own.

I wish that they saw it;

I wish that they knew.

I wish they understood,

that I love them too.

Oh well,

welcome to the midnight society, Patrick.

You're no longer your own.

my self-pity recipe doesn't call for sleep

It calls for getting fucked up,

failing the way I do.

Drunk

Drunk

Drunk

What I need is some luck

to get out of this cluster fuck

of too fast emotions

and undefined devotion

to... someone I love

and never should have told.

Too long have I hid;

too long I've played a fool.

Too far I've gone.

Too stupid to be alone.

feeling like a failure

They don't tell you how to deal

with these things in high school,

feeling like going insane

feeling like running away

feeling like pounding your brain away

with drugs because that's what feels good right now.

There's no thinking about tomorrow

when you're this far into crazy,

when the days are long and hazy.

So why bother?

Why bother with the class

with the test you just failed?

Drink some vodka! It puts hair on your chest

and then, hey! fuck around.

It feels good, not that I would know.

I'm just full of angst.

I'm just a little buzzed,

not even tipsy yet.

I'm just mad.

Mad that I can't do it.

Mad that I'm used to it.

Mad that you shouldn't believe in me.

Mad for being me!

What the fuck, life?

Why all of this strife?

Yes, that rhymes,

get over it.

That was meant to make you smile.

I know in my heart that I failed.

Why?

Because that's what I do.

I fail.

I fail to follow through.

I fail to stay consistent.

I fail to understand myself.

I even failed to die.

So next time I promise,

think twice.

I'm just good at fucking up.

untitled 7-25-10

The sounds of the city lightly play

while you lay, eyes closed and groggy head,

and listen to the mix

of digital and analog,

the virtual and substantial.

It's a lazy summer day

and Eliot's rhythms dominate your brain.

There are things to do,

but the heat muddles your mental cues.

You think you may, in fact, achieve

but we all know you'll only fall asleep

half-naked on your golden fleece.

It was a good attempt at least.