Early Stuff

by Sam Pink

You will be my friend until I say something to you in person that frightens you. And I don’t know anything about anyone but myself, and even that is uninteresting.

My goal is to interfere with other people as little as possible and be gone from earth without a sound.

The rain will beat the window. I’ll open the window and hold out a glass. When the glass is full, I’ll drink it.

I wish I were the person you imagine yourself to be because then you’d love me and never let me go.

I ENVY THE MOON BECAUSE IT NEVER HAS TO FACE THE DAY

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be at your place when my head broke into pieces all over the floor, spreading out over your tile. And I didn’t want for you to have to watch me clean it up— slowly—big pieces first, then the smaller ones.

I used to have an eight pack of crayons. Then I bought a sixteen pack. Then there were too many colors and I ran out of corresponding emotions.

There are too many emotions. But I really only feel one, and it’s, “I would kiss you goodnight except I’m allergic to assholes.”

And your opinion never bruises me, it tickles.

I’m looking for someone to spend time with. But I can’t afford too many hellos.

it seems like every moment I’m alive I’m trying to recapture something good from a long time ago and I’m walking backwards to see if that good thing comes back and tries to jump on my back for me to carry it.

I think my breath is fluorescent light and I feel the sun collect in my head and explode out into new stars that everyone hates and calls ugly.

When I get to hell I will save you a seat. When you get to hell I will act like I don’t know you.

The earth is stupid. It is the only planet that supports the weight of its own destruction.