Every time you think you're getting better...

You find yourself wishing it wasn't so bad.

I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if the first thought
of every single endless day
wasn't about how much you wished that they would
die.

There are so many empty things in life.
Empty eyes, empty conversations, empty kisses,
empty glass.

I live in a virtual barren land.
Where are my subways? Where are my starry-eyed
wanderers?
Where is anything that I loved for the past
year of absolute hell?

I used to be able to walk out the door
and the streets would carry me forward.
Toward something, the promise of anything,
streets alive with people and promise.

Now all I see are young families
and mortgages and endless petroleum
consumptioooooonnn oh kill me now.

My life has become so damn boring I wish
that something would explode.
Friends are married and what is there to do
anyway.
I miss the strangers:
The endless sea of strangers.
Even when you were alone you were never
alone.

Now its the same silence all the time
and the false self-assurances
and I still wish the bitch had just
spared me the ache.

Four months later and I still
don't understand.
Why are we so hell-bent on destroying each other?

I spent hours inside of her
but I never managed to reach her heart.

She had me at hello.
Another one to add to the list.

And now I sit in the half-light
half-alive
writing this crap to no one.

In a constant New York state of mind.