Untitled

Desirous of confidence
In a confidentially perspiring world
The filthy alleys in a suburban town
Are between grinning houses
Facades
Of what they are not
Joyously facetious
And conservatively smothering
I try to breathe
But I taste moldering decay
I wipe the sweat from my brow
On another summer day
The lawns fed by whirring sprinklers
While the children thirst for escapism
Buzzing static on the TV screens
Carnivourously coveting
Everything real
Everything their lives have become

Dated 3/30/98

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This is what happens when a gay boy grows up repressed in the suburbs. He writes really bad poetry. There are a couple lines that seem okay, but overall what tripe! In 1998 I had my first coporate desk job and I was living in my own apartment. I forced myself not to edit this or make it sound better. I posted it on here as is. Ugh!! In everything I write, summer always equals bad. I never write anything positive about warm summer days. Cold features very prominently in just about everything I write, as a guy in my screenwriting class pointed out. I don't know where that comes from. I usually write spooky stuff and summer in the suburbs is never spooky. But very late on a bitter winter night, you can feel like you are the last person on earth wandering around the suburbs.