ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Friday Schmiday I dropped subtle hints to you like tired film It pops and cracks after every laugh The static disrupts everything I say to you Speak up! Turn and face me. When I write the memoir of my relationships and failed attempts at humanity I will title it Everything Feels Wrong. My roommate's will be called "Bent". I'm working on a new poem in a manner as I've never done before. I'm working on it over time, taking days to come up with a single line. It's theme is the cinematic stigma of the American Dream and a personal piece on the distraught emptiness I feel in relation to societal expectations of love and family. I'm hoping to finish it by the end of next week and find somewhere to read it. Too much drinking. Too much breakfast. Too much work. Not enough sleep. This week has been torturous. It's Friday now, which means that it's somewhat over, but we all know better. Weekends, Weekdays, Hump-day and Mondays and so on and so forth. These words have no meaning to me. God, how I wish something would change. I'm going to have a cigarette now and go face the day. 2:14 p.m. - 2002-12-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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