i wrote a poem so who tf cares about at title; or, the second scoop of pre-workout.

i came home to help Neil pwn some fools but he snore/jerked
when i opened the door and wiped the dribble from the armchair,
and i knew instantly that i should have stayed to teach Nina to shoot bp.

she swayed under that jasmine shadow somewhere,
and the eyes beneath it flitted to me so often:
there's your problem right there.

now i'm hiding from sleep.
now i'm watching a mascot dance-off.
now i cant stop texting my ex and i

know somewhere deep i'll never do better than her.
Neil's gonna propose to Molly sometime this spring
and all I'll do is be worse off than i was last spring,

and lonelier.