I don’t deserve your sympathy.

When I sleep poorly, I harm myself,

not with pills or knives

but doughy pizza and poker.

 

These might sound small—verily they are,

but I’ve avoided loving any people who die

and only been once dumped,

on my quest for #2.

 

Still a kid, a spoiled millennial,

these problems equate to self-inflicted boredom.

The world will crush me. It crushes us all.

Build your ark. Recession’s a-comin’.

 

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