A Pleasurable Ailment

I quit smoking,

so I went to the store to get some strawberries.

This morning my usual stumble was replaced with an electric strut.

I was on my way to work, earlier than usual,
and happy I forgot my sunglasses.

I almost smiled,
And I think that’s okay.

There’s not too much a man needs.
A somewhat delusional subconsciousness, a little contrived confidence, and a sliver of authenticity keep me on track.
Some good old-fashioned assholism too.

Around lunchtime, I longingly passed the liquor store.
Instead, I opted for the organic fruit section.

They had a deal on the strawberries


I remember almost laughing.

Then I saw you, and hid my unwashed hair.
I had chosen to cut our class that day.

I guess I was feeling capricious.

I used to be just like you,
But you’ll never know that.

I think I need a cigarette.

Cheers to Melancholy, Celebration, and Nothing at All

You’ve always been too strong for most

I always liked someone who was a bit higher proof

Many boys claim that you are their mistress

I am well aware that you take pleasure in how you abuse them so dearly

I’m far too smart to talk to you before 5pm,
But my self-control wanes as I wait for then to come earlier every day

When that time comes you are there for me to confide in, to guide me, to make me a man.

But after all the men I’ve seen you kill,
I’m not sure if your auburn skin is as sweet as I once imagined

No matter, because like no one else,
you never fail to mention how transparent I am around you.

“Solitude can be a beautiful thing,” you whispered at 12:45 pm one Thrusday.

I can’t quite recall my response, but I think I forgot to be sarcastic

Maybe you’re finally starting to impair my judgement,
But your passion mercilessly masks my wounds that time never seems to erase.

I’ve seen the people I love come and go

It’s been years and you still live on my fridge, my bedside table, and in my veins

But I’ve never once heard you say
“I need you”

I wonder if you’ve uttered those three words to Hitchens
to Amy Winehouse
to my Father

Even if you didn’t, you must’ve made them imagine it somehow

Eventually I’ll believe your lies too,
And when I’m 63 and hooked up to one of those machines in those rooms that reek of saline and despair,
I’ll realize I wasn’t as fair to my children as I promised

Before they pull the plug I’ll tell my oldest son if I had the chance, I’d do it all over again.

To you my dear,
I’m privileged to know I learned to enjoy you without the ice.