The teeniest glimmer of hope, or whatever.

I watched some guy on the train spill his Monster™
energy drink and I know someone is
gonna accidentally sit in that
seat and think they’re sitting in piss.
Honestly, it’s little things like this that
make me feel happy to be alive — piss
jokes on the Red Line and that time Catie
and I found a used pad, an empty pack
of cigarettes, some kind of alcohol
bottle (also empty), and a newspaper
across from us. Kenzie would think the piss
seat is funny, too.

And I’ve decided I’m
not gonna kill myself until I’m like
25, at least. Otherwise it’s a
waste of all the fucking time I’ve
invested in making sure I’m not dead
yet. Yesterday, I started new brain drugs,
so it’s only a matter of time until
we learn if they work or not, but I’m
forcing optimism on myself. A
dog named Loretta gets on the train at
Downtown Crossing and I get out of my
seat to pet her and I think about how
on Monday I said it was gonna be
a good week and I haven’t been wrong yet.

LIZZY is a New England poet who spends a lot of their time writing about the horrors that come with living there.

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