and you will fall out of love
like all things

you will wish death
upon every Master of Fine Arts degree holder
a Nobel prize for every brewer of 99 cent beer

you will take advice from a stranger
on the eve of your collapse

it will not be ironically

you will call your brother in the same city
and speak through the distance and the static
and the fatigue
the same day people start telling you
that their judgmental god loves everyone

you will throw out all of your possessions
except a blanket that made it through with you
and a fleece-lined sweatshirt
with a hood big enough to hide everything

and relaxation is all just junk and vigor
forgiveness is an exercise in futility
except on the inside

birds do not apologize for being happy
trees do not apologize for being sad

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