Barbecue Chips

I sit here. As I sit here I’m thinking. I’m thinking, “I hope my Internet connection doesn’t cut out,” and, “I wish this download would finish sooner,” and, “I wish I had some barbecue chips.”

I sit here. As I sit here I’m surfing. I’m stumbling into everyone else’s ‘I miss you!’ s and their ‘I can’t wait to see you!’ s and their ‘Hey, I read your blog the other day...’ s.

I sit here. I find your blog. I browse it until I find whatever they mentioned. It’s not what I thought it would be so I take it back out of context and add it to my list of disjointed romanticisms. I wish I had some barbecue chips.

I sit here. As I sit here I’m...

I’m crying.

I wish I had some barbecue chips.


Independence, Blistered

The cycle is constricted
by an outside force.
Inner workings flare up
in unsuccessful attempts to
remain in control.

Little victories power this night.
Mental breaks accompany
mental breakdowns
in efforts to keep them
from happening again.
The past does not fade away
during times such as these,
instead gaining intensity,
snowballing small but
ever-present obstacles
in ways which the victories
could never hope to combat.

Quick fixes rule the day-to-day,
like a band-aid on a bullet wound,
preventing more interference
from an outside force,
leaving inner workings to fester
in their failure.


Independence, Begrudging

Your eyes are saying,
      "No," and your face is saying,
      "No," and your whole body is saying,
      Eventually, your mouth says,

      I say, "Yes. Fuck you,"
and nobody moves on.