Remember That Guy?
We all know that guy
You know? That guy.
That guy who walks through streets
Screaming obscenities
While those who surround him
Are electrons in a bomb
Awaiting the perfect opportunity
To ignite and fall out
There is that guy
Who is warning the masses
That this world will melt down
Who the fuck is that guy?
Who could possibly stir up
So much commotion
During the stagnancy
Of a Sunday night?
I know who that guy is.
I know exactly who he is.
It’s me.
I’m that guy.
Or at least I was that guy.
I was the one who was beat down
Into the abyss of psychosis.
I was the one who was strung out
Hoping someone would care enough
To give me space and listen.
I was the one who begged
When nobody else
Tuned into my tears.
I was that guy.
And maybe I still am that guy.
Come to think of it…
Yeah, I still am that guy.
I’m that guy screaming
Through his thumbs.
Typing a poem.
Lacking as much direction
As I did those nights
When I wandered through Williamsburg.
Lost in a subterranean subterfuge
Rattled by the emergency vehicles
Which could have helped me
Or submerged me
Deeper into paranoia.
And this whole city
Makes me question
Whether I still have
The undying potential
To continue being that guy.
But the world has
Endless possibilities.
Even the kind
Where I could be
In a room
Of screaming men
Like I was
Many times before
And still be remembered
As that guy.