the universe is too damn big.
way too damn big.
have you been to a dark sky park at night?
stars stars stars stars stars, each a sun,
all flecks of white dye, dying against emptiness.
how could anything be so vast?

the universe is too damn big.
it’s an ocean,
(lost at sea)
the stars can’t guide you, because they’ve got their own lives.
they’re busy and they’ve got work
and weddings
and graduations
and they’re leaving you behind.

there’s just too much of it;
don’t be selfish!
because there’s not enough of it either.
think about those less fortunate than you, and be
happy
with what you think you have.

the fucking universe is big,
and it doesn’t really particularly
pay very much
attention to
you.

… the nagging feeling

take a drink,
reset,
cover it up.

go to sleep,
reset,
cover it up.

get a routine,
reset,
cover it up.

… the nagging feeling that you don’t matter

cover it up cover it up cover it up,
a layer of perfectly smooth whiteout.
it’s like you couldn’t tell it was ever
there.
beneath.

ennui is a word that
assholes
and french philosophers
and weak people use.
the nagging feeling isn’t there if you don’t think about it.

the universe is too damn
small,
it’s too crowded in here,
let me out, let me out,
LET ME OUT.

the universe is too small
because why else wouldn’t there be a place for me that wasn’t already taken?
whatever size the universe is,
it’s clearly not the fucking right one.
i should have been consulted.
(my opinion matters, damn it.)

people are the words we speak
and think
and ponder
and hear
and i take whiteout and just
cover up
the nasty words.

but i’m starting be afraid that
all these words i’m covering up
actually are beginning to mean something
about me.

how many layers of whiteout does it take to ruin a page?