Marah Poppe
Poetry Editor
drinking week old water bottles
lying by the bed
shoving all the clothes to one side,
hoping that you’ll fit
smell of dirty laundry, unmade beds, greasy
hair
crippling self destruction, convincing yourself
it’s fair
there it is again
that funny feeling
that funny feeling
there it is again
that funny feeling
that funny feeling
overwhelmed in discord calls,
volume changed to 10
disappearing on my friends,
time and time again
nothing even matters,
it’s not worth it anymore
trying to convince myself to
just walk out the door
something better waits for us,
just beyond these walls
eight long, horrid, years of this,
we’ve got “two more to go.”
watching the big football game,
the seahawks and the pats
shouting at the half-time show,
“why can’t he just go back?”
there it is again,
that funny feeling
that funny feeling
there it is again,
that funny feeling
that funny feeling
reading AI’s terms of service,
selling off your soul
braving agents, cops, and barricades
all for a noodle bowl
Full agoraphobic,
losing focus,
cover blown
A book on immigration rights
hand-delivered
by a drone
total life annihilation,
fully out their minds
googling “what’s happening here”, and
hating what i find
That unapparent summer air
in early fall
The quiet comprehending
of the ending
of it all
There it is again,
that funny feeling
That funny feeling
There it is again,
that funny feeling
That funny feeling
Hey, what can you say? We were overdue
But it’ll be over soon, you wait
oh, how we can only hope.