As icy water wraps me
Like Satan’s comfort blanket
The naked truth hits me
Like one of my French girls.
I realize that I will die
And almost certainly not win an Oscar.
I look out on the ocean,
Green waves far away massage
Where the shore’s shoulders would be
If the shore had shoulders.
A cold wind turns the surface
Into a speckled visage,
The watery face of a teenage boy
If that’s what the ocean were.
Leagues below, seaweed dances
As a beloved mermaid sings
About how unsatisfied she is
With royalty and wealth.
All I hear is screaming,
The sound of burning wreckage
Sinking below the surface,
And Celine Dion warming up offstage.
As I gaze into the eyes of my love
Whom I met a few hours ago
My suffering diminishes
For I do not suffer alone.
A thousand boyfriends will share
This 214-minute suffering
For so long as home videos exist.
I was her shoulder to cry on,
Something the shoulderless shore
Will never be.
Okay, I’m cold now.
The Daily Travesty 