I’m sorry that I’m the way
I am. I tend to get a feeling
of free-floating anxiety, like
something is horribly
wrong, but I don’t know what,
so then I try to find the ways
that I fucked up, the things I did
wrong, the reasons and the proof
that someone hates me.

I think part of it
is that I assume
that everyone will hate me
eventually, that I’m an awful
person who drives everyone away
so it’s just a matter of time
until it happens with you. I’m
probably conditioned by
having parents who lied
and said everything was fine
when it clearly wasn’t
and then got divorced.

I take all the little things
that by themselves are meaningless
and may well have nothing to do
with me, but in my mind
they add up to being
a big bad picture,
like detectives in a movie
when they’re trying to catch
a serial killer, like the Zodiac
or whatever, and then I assume
and make an ass out of u and me,
but mostly me. so anyway I’m sorry,
and it will probably happen

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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