A Nearly Spherical Body of Gas Contained in a Liquid

Oxbow is not real. This I have come to realize.

I meet some people, live with them for a couple weeks, exchange memories, Facebook's and phone numbers,

and suddenly that's all they are to me.

I will most likely never meet these people again,

and if by the off chance that I do, it will not be Oxbow, a community where we all believed,

for just a short while, that this world of art and perpetual celebration of life was real.

Oxbow is a euphoria in a bubble, and I hate it.

Trench Foot

It had become a routine.

With lethargic summer days

Came our high-octane evenings.

We'd spend our nights at our coffee house

Enjoy each other's company,

Berate each other's music,

And talk up a pity storm.

We were stuck in a rut

And I was getting trench foot.

We sat on suave metal chairs

Talking about how "nothing's happened

Since the last time I saw you",

Just like the night before.

I would test your discomfort threshold

With excessively awkward questions

That shut us up on the way home

Just like the night before.

They Are/Need Fags

This is what I get to do for the rest of my internet life.

Sit in front of a screen,

Rant to non-existents,

Strengthen my position as Cliche Master.

It's like my Truth Box

Filled with comments I wrote myself

Claiming that pity parties are where you play Beer Pong.

It's Saturday night, which means that the Abend twins

Are probably having a pity party of their own;

From my window I can hear chavs pour beer on their heads

And tell their parents that "Tecate's parents say hello"

And "we just played video games the whole night"

And "I'm really tired so I'm just gonna go to sleep...no I'm fine, just tired.

Yes. I did all my homework yesterday".

Coffee and aspirin they'll beg for coffee and aspirin, Mrs. Abend.

All they need is some coffee, a cigarette and an aspirin.