misanthropy

i am the most antisocial person you know. (i'm trying not to know you.) i'm ready for my close-up. i'm drawing in sharpie on my limbs. the more invitations i get, the more likely i am to stay home and bury my head in the sand. can this world be a little smaller please? i get dizzy thinking about the sheer scope of things sometimes, at work when i lean my cheek against a window above a swarming street, above taxis bikes crosswalks carhorns miniature paintings of lives and i get out of breath cuz i can hardly remember my own name anymore.

and after weeks and years of not sleeping we start seeing ghosts out of the corners of our stumbling eyes but still we can't refuse these revelries that appear out of nowhere and sneak their way into our ears - parties where we hide in the basement pulling fuses till the art kids disappear; storefront libations and dancefloor hijacks; glazed sugar desires. she gave me shots of whiskey in line for the bathroom, and someone threw bottles to shatter in the street by uniformed feet. they switched jackets and asked me to climb up to their rooftop, but tonight i favor the smell of saturation.