it's been almost twenty years; a losing battle

i won't tell the truth,
unless you want me to.

so there's this spot
at the base of my neck that
when touched it's useless,
unless by the breath
of lingering lips, looming
promise of kissed
real true love
sends ripples through my skin.

shaking at the core of every stupid story
is the idea that it's okay to behave
the way i do as long as it's not bored nihilism
and easy narcissism but really truly poetry.
real true honesty:
i spent last week vomiting
rum and blood into my best [we are all relative]
friend's toilet and sleeping, gently breathing
on his bathroom floor
waking every time they'd slam the refurnished door
into a barely lifeless body on the linoleum.
and it wasn't pathetic, it was performance art,
and it wasn't dramatic, resigned to stop
before i ever start.

wearing my post-salinger/bukowski-chic
angst and honest hate too close to a badge
they both knew better than to ever want to
waste their time trying to live like that.
and i may disgust, so fashionable
dog-earred copy of ask the dust but
it was always sherwood anderson in my heart,
cause i never had the guts to actually
stop lying to myself.

and i remember now;
the spot on my neck,
and high school,
the beautiful redhead
who i used to lock eyes with
after second period and i
never found out her name
and that's probably for the best.

because it was probably
empty syllables of
a borrowed language,
representing little more
than walking disappointment.
this is the truth.
believe it.
i don't mean to offend, but this is very very hipster.
everything sounds very forced, from the borderline TBS/BN inspired phrases to the blatant bukowski structure. the worst part is the name-dropping of salinger and bukowski, it really made me cringe.
i think the reason why it sounds forced is because there is this air of agedness, of being worn out from going through alot, while the content doesn't match up to that at all. i'm not questioning your genuineness as i would have no way to find out, but as i said before, this is very generic poetry that a hipster would write.
god im an asshole i apologize i just don't know how else to put it. i do love buk myself.

on a positive note, i do like that "we are all relative" part.
I liked.

also Horebane, don't refer to things as hipster. Its nerve-racking that this is becoming the new Emo or Scene. You stated you didn't know how to put it yet I see a paragraph in between the two 'hipster's that sum up how you feel quite nicely. All things are generic, and overdone, that's the true beauty behind life is that nothing is original other than the perspective from which it is seen.
If I don't meet you no more in this world, I'll meet you in the next one and dont be late.

JWU Baking and Pastry '13