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I wish I could stop caring.

I don’t know how you can’t need me

but every door I knock on looks like yours so how can I enter them

I tiptoe through the streets wishing

sewers were trapdoors

and I could jump and fall for years before landing in an alternate universe

where every stoplight doesn’t blink a glare and a lecture from my future self,

where every piano I come to doesn’t stretch like elastic

reaching for my fingertips and begging for another song about you

But we still drag our sticky boots through the mud,

maybe in a mile it’ll turn into dirt,

maybe maybe maybe

and the bullets sing in an ancient tongue,

the one that was made for us,

the one I can pull out of a hat without warning

I wish I could stop caring.

I would say I wish I could stop living but that would piss people off.

You have too much, they’d say

too much in front of you

too much behind you

too many acquaintances who have it worse off.

Maybe it would sadden them if I said it

but I doubt it

People are angry.

People are just like I feel like I should be when I say

I wish I could stop caring.

But I’m not angry…

I can’t be

when the last word I said to you was maybe.