inferior and full of doubt

there's only x amount of ways
to pick all the green
candies out of
the mason jar on the dining room table
and there's only so many ways
of getting mad at your closest friends
for living their lives
like a beautiful dream
and there's only two ways to move on.
and from what i've seen,
neither of them are pretty.
the first doesn't bring joy and happiness
like old promises told.
in this,
we are not laying naked in a field of flowers
listening to sigur ros
and reading kerouac.
we are sitting 12 hours apart
in phone booths, coffee shops, curbs,
and inside dumpsters.
and we're both trying to maintain composure
as our frail hands grasp the telephone tight.
and as the phone clicks down, we're both in tears
in the second we're both living out our broken dreams.
bootstraps, and railroad boxcars,
penny-candies and everything we have we stole.
but we're not together.
and this isn't the end.
but everything is seen through
a veil of pot-smoke
and tasted with the lingering wine breath.
and when we're home,
neither of us cares to be alone.
and neither of us cares.