i haven’t written anything in three months so i take 60 mg of Adderall XR & watch the sun rise. i want to be awake & on the verge of greatness. i want to write the worst poem in the world. last week, to a friend, i drunkenly confessed to her that i want to write the next great American novel. but i have never written a page of a novel. or a paragraph. what i mean to say is that i am supposed to be palpable. what i mean to say is that i am not happy. what i mean to say is that i have $30 in my bank account & am ready to drive to Philadelphia. i lack self-awareness. i am 25 years old. i have never been good at the tortured poet thing. i tell coworkers some of my darkest secrets & they say the word, “sorry.” i am not sorry. one time, or many times, i’ve had less than $2 in my bank account, so i have driven to taco bell to buy a spicy potato soft taco. it’s been my first meal of the day at 8 pm. i want to write the next great American novel. unfortunately, i am friends with madness. reasonably, i have dropped out of college four times. one thing that college taught me is that pity should last longer. if it did i would make better use of it.

what’s that one line out of that one poem that’s like, “i wake up & it breaks my heart.” that is silly. it is true. i wake up & it breaks my heart. i wake up & it breaks my stupid little heart.