tradition

as the red

and green

and purple

and gold

lit up the night,

outshining the stars,

stealing their thunder;

pouring down

like the rain,

but with colors,

and prettier

and somehow

bluer;

i looked up,

another year

came anew,

and people

cheered,

and the music

sucked,

as my insides

stilled—

empty,

unbothered.

it was getting old,

and it was getting late,

and i was growing tired;

my eyelids drooped

in defeat

and in boredom.

i asked then,

'how

are you

going to

fuck me up

this time?'

- e.d.

1 January 2018 at 9:04