Happy Hour

Portrait of a fool painted with a knife.  I disgust myself when I think of the things I’ve done for the sake of fitting in .  Who in the hell did I think I was?  The truth is, every time I’ve compromised myself it was because I took time out to try and relate to those around me.  Usually it turns out ok, I don’t show my cards too often.  Some of the letters I’ve written throughout the years make me want to cut my hands off.  I left my guard down.  I paid the price in full.  I have done my time in this place.  I should have learned my lesson from the first letter but like the fool that I am, I didn’t.  When I’m with my own thoughts, I don’t hate myself.  When I’m out there I know it’s just a matter of time before I’m exposed for just how amazingly uncomfortable I am.  A lot of people feel this way, they just won’t say it out loud, they are afraid that the notion might drive them further away from any sense of normalcy.  They’re afraid of some liar telling them that they are strange or stupid. 

 Here, I say whatever the fuck I want. 

But the truth has always angered you & I will have no part of this.  You will never have me to blame for all of the years spent avoiding your life.  I’m the alien that came, landed, looked around and then left this shit hole so that I could live to tell about it.  Trust me, no one else will be visiting after the stories I’ve told.  Besides, aliens don’t mix with people.  You know you’re a stranger when you go out and take walks just to be among them.  You think that someone will be out there for some sort of magic rendezvous.  It’s the same reason people look for faces they know when they’re away on vacation.  It’s bullshit.  You’ll never see that face.  Not when you’re away, not when you’re at home, not even in the mirror.  Long ago I gave up on the idea of making true contact with anyone.  I look at them now like a museum display.  They have nothing to do with me and I’m not part of their world either.  I look up from my single malt scotch to see you staring at me from outside of the bar window and quickly realize that you need to take a moment and read this god damned paragraph again.

  Move. The. Fuck. Along.