it is friday night.
i am in my living room with the television on;
i like to think the noise will cover up my loneliness.
that the talk with ease the noise in my head.
earlier i took a drive around my hometown.
i used to be too anxious to drive.
now i am too anxious to stay home.
i drove through the neighborhoods i used to live in.
i couldn't drive past the houses.
there are more churches than liquor stores here.
the stoplights are placed in seemingly sporadic locations.
streetlights line the bridge, and, in the winter,
are covered in christmas decorations.
i don't know how to write poems anymore.
i want to sit in empty churches;
stand on bridges.
gnaw off each of my fingers, individually,
knuckle by knuckle;
claw my face off.
drink and drink and drink and vomit.