A Long Poem

It was long,

Before I felt like I wanted to be alive.

So long in fact,

That I  have no memory of ever feeling that way.

It was long,

The stick life beat me with.

It’s been long,

Writing about this messedupness,

Till I ran out of ways to keep doing it.

But it’s so long,

I think I might make a career off it.

So long,

I had to go along,

Hope was fictious,

And I had to get real.

Alone.

Alone so long I think all the people I really love are just imaginations.

My mind’s way of dealing with the long loneliness.

My friend Neil has long legs,

But he walks just as fast as me.

So maybe long can mean nothing sometimes.