he said he was gonna make
another one in a long
list of attempts to try and find
somewhere he belonged which I guess was
cheesy at the time maybe it's just
because it was raining it felt a little bit
worse than it actually was but he
went home that night and drank half a
gallon of bleach and went to bed
without setting his alarm and I
watched them bury him a week later in a
muddy grave next to relatives
he didn't know in the middle of a town
he didn't care about and never once in his life
called home and I remember God looking
over my shoulder and He asked me whether or
not I still insisted that irony was dead but
I didn't answer His question, just
ignored Him until He
called me a punkass under His breath and
walked away.

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