Songs on the radio set
to a record-smashing
thirty below.

Vices I’ve come
to know are not
prophets of their time,
just some people
getting by,

construction crews
of soundtracks to
get high to.

Forgot what I was gonna write here, distracted by fistfights with empty space.

And I don’t need no publisher to usher me into eras of greatness; double negatives and Saturday nights wasted are adequately epic.

Booked myself a
flight to Spain
to miss something

worth the wait.

Multiple dates
in a matter of days.

Met most of them of them online;
one brought scissors to our

Discovered most
inherently have some

screws loose.

I’m not ready to
appropriate adulthood,
throw away old
ripped jeans
for good,

put my foot
in mouth disease
to rest.

Ill-prepared to write new classics
but I got
a novel’s worth of
masochist tendencies
to spare.

Sexual self-correction
spiritual connections.

Locking down a
soul mate borders on
algebra, and
my math’s
a little rusty.

People so desperate to find
somebody, it should
ostensibly be

a matter of odds.

But connect the dots, you’ll find our eyes are getting caught scanning skies for shooting stars, hoping for soft landings in serendipity’s backyard, and everything between’s a waiting game.

Product of
my environment,
antelope in a world chalk-full of lions,
it’s all
I can do
not to scream

some rebels reject
a cause because they’re legitimately
not given much to believe in.

Yeah, they called us Gen Why,
told all would fade
to darkness in
our lifetime, so it became
our job to

question everything.


5 thoughts on “Scream

  1. I’ve read this before, but never commented. Just like months ago, that last stanza gets me every time. Great writing, Nicholas. As per usual.


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