friends are nothing like they are in stories your mother tells

i use the word homesick
but what i think i really mean is

uncomfortable
or dissatisfied,
 
pressing on your limbs  and  heavy on your  chest
   
     fucking anxious    
                               about nothing
because nothing is what i feel like i'm doing
when i really want to be doing something        more,     that makes me feel raw    like i used to

just feeling pulled. in all directions
but am so overwhelmed  that i'm not moving     towards     either of them.

i've been doing that thing   where i stare all the time   at things,
maybe hoping to form some sort of connection   with it
                pretend that i know     something

i'm just more interested in other peoples lives
                       because i don't need to poison it.

just feel like im talking at my friends,
               not with them     and in the end,   and always,
                                                                  no one really gives half a shit

and were all really only together      to laugh,      at something stupid

and after a while,   with life progressing as it is,    i don't see what's the point in any of it.

friends are nothing like they are in stories your mother tells
 
i feel like my entire life has just been a series of needing to scream in peoples faces
      everything thats fucked up about them,
                              and fucked up about their souls
but it never happens
      because no one would listen
                             and i'm really just wasting my fucking time

i'm always trying to understand  where everyone is coming from
                                                                              and how can i be more open about it,
but fuck,
   after a while,
                  i just begin to hate       and feel heavy

because i dont,
               
              i dont,
                            i dont,
                                        just,

                                        understand
                       
                                                  really   fucking            anyone.

i think we should still hang out

i looked for your vomit on the way home
                                           
                                           and could not find it.

  you said you were by a tree     with a bench
               
        and you bent down
                 over wooden-ed ground
                                                         and did it.
                                               
                                                   all over yourself.
like you had nothing left to hide.

and thats what i liked about it  best,

                         there was nothing left to hide.