Birthday

Its her birthday, she’s twenty five

And sits alone by the window-

Anyway,

She’ll do something today

That makes her feel alive

Like wear purple eyeshadow

 

She counts, in her past,

The cigarette ends, the shoes

(Which no longer fit)

The friends that didn’t last,

Empty bottles of booze,

The failure of her own wit

 

She wants to be a grown up,

She thinks, and it really does seem

As if she’s starting to blow up

Looking in glass jars for a spare dream

 

All the banalities, minor calamities

She exhales out with cigarette smoke

Sits by the window and continues to mope

About a life of dull fatalities

 

Its her birthday, she’s twenty five

She might get out of the house, for a bit

See what’s good by the Brooklyn Dive

Secure a sit, and commit to it

Find, in drink, the meaning of life

And not question it

Just for this lonely birthday night