when i knew it was over

over over

not just a bout of unhappiness

it wasn’t a roaming eye

or someone else

it was my friends telling me they remembered me being happy

and i looked at them

confused

i thought i was happy

but they saw my smile never reached my eyes

i would go home and she would already be in bed

and i crawled over her

trying my damnedest to not make contact

she would roll over and pass gas

or mutter something in that half asleep way

and i would inch closer to the wall so as to not make incidental contact

when my friends started talking

i realized it was an intervention

not from drugs or booze

but unhappiness

shortly after i moved to the couch

recently they have started the questions again

the smile doesn’t travel to the top floor anymore

nothing worse than sad eyes and a dopey grin

i have no one else to blame

i go to the bathroom and avoid incidental eye contact in the mirror

crawl into bed and hate the idea of having to have that too difficult talk with myself

and it’s hard to avoid as we tend to lay there in the dark counting mistakes like fluffy white sheep

but we avoid the real subjects

the sabotage

the feelings of emptiness that grow like a divide in my mind turning into a canyon as the slow winding river of self hatred burrows into the bedrock

this used to be theraputic

now it just feels torturous

so i’ve begun contemplating less somber things

at my funeral i want sistinas by danzig, xmas at the zoo and kim’s got a watermelon gun by the flaming lips, and black lodge by anthrax played

maybe throw in hurt, johnny cash version, to fuck up everyone’s day

and judy is a punk, but the pears version, i like how they kind of mess up the lyrics

in lieu of a bible verse, read rats in the walls by lovecraft

none of my crap, it isn’t fit for human consumption and would probably make me rise from the dead as a revenant and go on an undead killing spree

if you want to view my body i want a limbo station set up and happy conga drums playing as you approach

and wire up a sensor so if anyone gets to close my voice yells at them not to defile the dead guy

maybe my definition of less somber is different from the traditional