Brb soul searching by Mercedes Hazard
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LOCKPICKThere will come a time
when the person you think is your soulmate
will turn out to be nothing more
than a background character
in some non-fiction/no-hitter book.
You’ll grow sad, sour.
You’ll get into bar fights and lose.
You’ll hate-fuck strangers.
You’ll hate-fuck yourself.
You’ll get drunk at Hooters and hit on the waitresses.
They’ll all get pissed and the manager will kick you out.
Then you’ll puke out your dinner right there in the street ––
maybe even puke up a few sad poems.
You’ll go home. You’ll strip off your clothes, get into bed.
You’ll read Person by Sam Pink and identify with the narrator.
You’ll start making your way
through all 379 movies in your Netflix instant queue.
You’ll think of your gone-away lover.
You’ll want to pull a stocking over your head
and break into her mind with a lockpick,
just to see if she misses you at all.
But don’t waste your time.
Because she doesn’t.
She doesn’t miss you.
She doesn’t miss you,
but don’t waste your time
Take the lockpick and smash up your bathroom mirror.
Take a plunger to your shit-clogged mind.
Listen to the song of your alcohol
as you puke it into the toilet
with another sad poem.