Biography By An Insomniac

Wind blowing from behind The smoke lingers in front And you, behind, Have forgotten the mood. The mood used to be quiet! The mood was silent And you turned it into ranting You turned me off your instigations But, wait, no mood, no more thinking Thinking that this is not the way to go But it’s compulsive, I have no choice I used to love you for who you are Now I love you for who you were And this comes as no surprise But the melting plastic of your demise Covers your disguise You so coyly contrive In the midst of rounded eyelids The size of my nail beds. I’ve learned to grow peaceful in the midst of conflict I’ve learned to practice angst as if it were an Olympic sport Gold medal angst! Now there’s a word— To throw down the gutter if there was no gutter at all. There is no love, only in haunted houses. I will only go see a play if it is about dead children. I will not be a person there. If I acted like you and like a person, i would invite attention, And god knows I want Nothing to do with attention. You can love me for my quirks. This is my biography, written by an insomniac, Some time but not now. She was born. The baby liked to eat and sleep (as most babies do!) but this one loved it more and loves it still today at 22. She was creative, I guess, but only or especially in comparison with Her lame choice of friends; at 22, nameless, friendless, sloppier but neater, She began smoking. She began drinking diet coke and created herself A thousand times over, this circle of smoke would not end. She won’t admit to lying But she’ll admit to mania, does that make her a maniac? I wasn’t in the mood to do that Thought I’d never be in the mood to do that But now that I ate a chocolate turtle I’m in the mood to do that. That was the street I walked down when I was on pcp. I refuse to be admired! I refuse to be judged! This reminds me of something! That time I was happy! That time I was all by myself It’s not alone we want but it’s to be alone That is the definition of by oneself— No it’s not! You don’t understand me for escaping you, Well understand this. I am not myself, and when I go outside myself, I become by myself. When there is someone else of me Around, then I can’t well have you around! Three’s a crowd so get over yourself! Listening to Beck, I’ve forgotten what I was saying, 22.