In Which I Have a Headache.

so here's another
lost-soul-baby-girl
crying at four a.m.,
inhaling her failures
along with the nicotine.
life is oh so tough, isn't it,
when you're in-between
and underpaid?
when prayer is
less effective and
harder to come by and
burns your insides more
than the contents of the
bottles on your
nightstand.
give it up, give it up,
baby girl,
cuz no one's gonna steer
this ship to shore.
no one's gonna anchor you down.
no crew to help you weather
this storm.
i'm not here to unmix your
metaphors, not gonna
take the wheel or
be your wings or
carry you home.
no one has the key.
not you. not even you.

In Which I'm Sort Of Tired Of Putting "In Which" At The Beginning Of Every Post, But Now I've Done It Enough To Where I Feel Committed to the Style.

This evening, I'm not feeling
particularly productive or
inspired or
talented or any
of those things that make a person
special
so I think I'm just going to
break up my lines
in strange places
and hope you don't read this so much
as
glance over its shape,
so you'll perceive if not a masterpiece,
at least a poem
that was never really here.