I Scratched This onto a Desk in the Library Somewhere

On the west side of the city, the chit chat of strangers
Leaks into your pockets and pulls
Your face into smile position.
Ladies like to open their eyes
Wide and talk loud,
Just to make sure you listen.
I wore my only suit
And slicked my hair back
For this?

In High School my problems quickly became all of my friends’
Too, once I started exploding violently out my mouth.
I called it catharsis; they called my problems “Bomblems.”

When I broke my hand in a tragic typing accident
I started writing with my feet.
Pen between the toes, biting the upper lip.
Nobody knows the relief writing holds like I do.
Distracting the pain, much like fooling
An old dog when you pretend to throw his toy away.

My watch has been broken for a few months now,
The hands behind the scratched glass, frozen,
Or dead, not sure.
I can’t bring myself to throw it away,
I like the way it holds my wrist far too much,
So now, it’s my compass.

It took me twenty rounds to realize, life was just a board game,
We only move the pieces because boredom isn’t as glamorous
As it used to be.
I will always be the same player,
Even though, sometimes, I would like to be the silver shoe,
Or even the top hat.
I guess it doesn’t really matter,
As long as we finish together.

Nothing makes sense,
If you think about it long enough.

Sandwich.