The Existing.

I spit out sunny skies
when you're kicking up worthless soil
and I silently smoke on your depression
when your presence is fragile and flaccid. 

The pounds and pennies throw their stones. 
I try not to show how it engulfs me
like a brave liver taking yet more tequila
after this poet has lost her rhyme.

Desperate to escape the void, the hope,
all for the unfaulting love between you and I
or to lather in barbeque sauce
such friends and find honesty in our motionless, emotionless credentials.

The worms of thought crawl back into holes of the mind.
I am an orphan once again, it does not surprise me in the least -
alone and yet
insufferable in my lack of suffering.