Pen

I find myself in a familiar situation
sitting
writing
to hip-hop
in a bar
populated with faces that will disappear into the night.

One by one
my friends have pulled their attendance records
from my short term memory
now
beer substitutes.

Another nameless girl
speaks meaningless phrases
and wants something
I can't offer her.

The drunkenness co-insides with lonliness
and as I sit in booth
a DJ changes cable
and a neighbouring booth
recoils in rage.

I want to trust someone
but nobody will allow me to.

I'm writing too fast
my borrowed pen can't keep up

I can see a girl
(a shy one too)
I will talk to her
I will ask for a pen.

---

I did
I did ask her for a pen
the answer was no
but I feel that I will speak to her later
because she knew me.

I spoke to the hippys at the front
and they were more than happy
to gift me their tools
free love is their buzz
free love is my buzz
but free trust
that is the real obstruction.

Drum and bass rings
in my ears
which is odd
for a student bar
at 10:30PM.

I watched a guy get with a girl he'd never met
she left
he kept partying
he kept longing
wanting somebody to reciprocate
I wasn't willing.

Earlier tonight I lost a notebook
I had parts of my life in there
too many writings to count
and I didn't really care.

There are more people I feel I know
scattered around
but I'm uncertain of myself
so I stay
and they approach me with caution
numbers in hand

---

There is someone
and I keep seeing their face
here
but I subsequently
realize my eyes are false
because believing in their presence
would mean I'm ill.

I have uni tomorrow
but I need to forget about that if I want
to experience tonight
because tonight
and everynight
fear is the biggest inhibitor
and once it's rid
experience can occur.

---

I've changes my mind
I'm over talking about fear
because everyone here
talks about compton
and needs an IV in their
arm.

The word whore
is frequent
and though fear dwells in the linguistics
it is probably justified.

The shy girl left
that doesn't bother me
and despite any of my best efforts tonight
I have been unable to deposit any mutual travellers
into my company.

I was asked about my writing
it is nothing
but something to remember me by.

What's left is waiting
waiting for now
and slow writing becasue
I lost that pen
and am back to the shitty one.

---

There is a couple sitting behind me
I can only see familiar faces
but there is no affirmation to be given
there never is.

It becomes apparent to me
that this is like the last poem I wrote
today
that's now lost
and that is
I call all this dependency.

The floor is sticky
but then again
when isn't it?

I have found the pen
among all the filth
among the darkness
among the scum
at least now
I can finally find something.