Kicks the curb and trips on it.
Nothing works, he yells.
And nothing happens.
Stumbles home in the dark.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel shit
like I used to. Maybe I’ll
feel like a genuine problem
to someone, or myself. I could
improve it. Maybe, he thought.
But guys like me are just a
nuisance to em all, and mostly
ourselves. Shit. Can jell with
anyone. Just can’t jive anywhere.
Guys like me, he wondered,
end up where? Without an
answer, passing out. So he does.