Outcome
i want to be a hacker
backtracker
wiretapper
firewall-snapper
a tin-miner
oil-finder
market timer
ladder climber
backpacker
stat tracker
bad rapper
mad hatter
chess player
rhyme sayer
time slayer
mind clayer
i want to be a
dog-owner
effective loner
five-organ donor
bad thing condoner
i want to be an
artist
fartist
schmartist
blartist
but in the end all i can be
is diego segura i
make minimum wage happily
and can think, wait, and fast
(often at the same time)
i am a jack of all trades,
good at doing everything
including your mother,
i write for my girlfriends
and other women and i’m not sure
if any audience in the world is worth more
than them,
i eat kit salads out of a bag
and can’t remember the last time
i ate something that didn’t come out of a wrapper,
i am addicted to sugar and adverse to sex
a victim of a god complex that i proudly
installed on my own,
it’s a spectacle, isn’t it?
i remember everything
and forget everything i want to forget
including your mother,
i once flirted with the demons in my room
and have effectively charmed all the voices in my head
into liking me,
i have the imagination of a seven-year old
who was told that he should be imaginative,
i am seventy-five years old,
consider this my sign-off
it’s a shame your mother isn’t here to
kiss me on the cheek as i die,
son.