This is my world
  thrown apart;
my justice is
  my suffering,
my drunken reverie,
a clash of sound and
thumps in the dark.

I situate myself up,
turn towards the horizon
stretching like my
mother's early morning arms
  into the air and blink
twice. The sound is
squishy.

I can see no end,
I can see no relief.
Everything I ever wanted,
all the girls that
smiled politely walking by,
that scribbled
  numbers down
on bits of
  scrap paper
for me to
scare myself out of calling,
the picturesque young
stud, body a reflection of
modern-day perfection,
designer jeans and $100
tees, money that sees no
bottom of that pit, my wallet
would be so deep –

   -  sigh  -

Windowpanes holding
daffodils and pieces of
my soul, annoyances of a
quiet realization that I'd still
  want something more
and I conclusively
hold the world in derision;

waiting for it to show me
what happiness looks like.
It begins and ends as the
same melody stuck
on a tired refrain,
a joke I keep forgetting
to laugh at.

It never grows funny.