Honestly

Do you think I numb myself with Television Shows
So I can run away from responsibility?
Like everyone else who surrounds me
In the vast snow land of Saginaw
In the immortal cold of the young adult soul?

Maybe I feel like I’m losing the child in me
Unlike Picasso, and my Guernica 
Is a blank page, only grey 
And the mother crying is an empty stroke
Of calligraphy that speaks to no one
And is endless, the empty stroke goes on and on
And just like ink
Dipped into a bottle it grows and grows
Till it covers the water
In bruise pristine 
And the smell is the only thing that tells you 
That it’s been tampered with, 
Or you wouldn’t even know

Libraries I could go to but never do
I watch Rick and Morty in the pale sun light
And feel smart when I recognize the basest science
And feel dumb when I see how intelligent 
The fictional characters all seem to be
In the books I’ve read, all the movies
And my roommate once told me that we are doomed
For we looked up to suicidal mavericks
In books and movies and rock and roll
All suicidal, doomed mavericks
And in the eternal wasteland of the teenage soul
That thinks too much for its own good
And thinks too little for its own good
I am doomed only to realize thirty years hence
How much like an asshole I sound now.