Night Walk for Gatorade

Night Walk for Gatorade


Glowing fridge lights
Spilling on the floor
Laughing faces, expanding spaces
They all seemed so sure

Tonight, I wanted to fall into a hole
Coupled me, in a pair
In a room with gatorade bottles
With a rice krispy treat
A glowing TV
And a tin fold out chair

Am I a fool?
But a fool is so unaware
It’s not for a lack, but an excess of wanting,
That I dream of my determined despair

So he walks into the blanket of city, darkness, and laughter
As I grow nauseous, a jest for their court
The freedom to forgo, forget, and set fire to
My surroundings,
Please, relentless me, abort

I don’t want to look back on this poem
And fix a stanza or three
I know these words to be economical
I know these words and their edges
I know them to be me

Nothing about them is special
Nothing within them is a cure
Nothing about this night is glowing
So I stumble home, just as drunk
Without a hope, a match
A distant cry resonates within me
Fall, no catch

Melanie Falconer is a freelance writer and editor living in Los Angeles, California. Her writing mainly concerns philosophy, personal experiences, cultural commentary, and her love of the visual and performing arts. If you’d like to reach out to her, you can do so here.

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