Considering the fact that I no longer exist as a basement rat
(and can watch the snow fall),
I wonder what in the world led
these barely-functioning teens
to declare themselves Leviathans.
I cannot rationalize their marionette strings,
but maybe Clarke can?
It’s sensational!--
The absolute absurdity at which
I find myself shaking my head
and furrowing my brow and wondering,
when did _god die and
who let these tipsy sleep-deprived
Polo boys replace _him?
I flip my cap backwards
and swagger along the sidewalk
and wonder if it’s for the best;
I mean that I simply built myself
a shoddy ladder of friends
and tried to climb up it!
The onlookers GASPED in horror
as they realized my steel-spiked cleats
had dug into my besties’ eyes
and imprinted my Instagram handle
on their retinas.
Oh look, the Leviathan I have become.
So I stare into my silly little iPhone camera
and pretend that I haven’t just subjected myself
to three weeks of trauma
in a sad last ditch attempt to network with
the male gaze.