Here’s to hoping that Midterms stay on break.

This morning, I was woken

in a pool of drool, all my will

broken, tongue still stained with 

tobacco taste, skull

devoid of the academic capacity

for reasonable deliberation.


I was still in 

the library.

I am always

in the library.


The janitor didn’t judge me 

(too harshly)

when I made him mop up

the mix of my bodily fluids.

Blood, toil, tears, and 

sweet relief

in my belief that 





because Midterms are over.


Dear Midterms, 

Kindly fuck off?

You are detestable.

It is only acceptable to 

make me wake hating 

everything if the night before was 


(And no, an essay without 

cited sources is not

what I mean by incredible,

you sorry piece of pedantic 



I mean, 

the night should be

an astoundingly astral blur of 

bourbon and cheap liqueur

and faded faces facing toward

each other because 

why not? Covid isn’t the 

worst thing ever passed between

two pairs of tattooed teeth 

in the back of a frat boy’s leased

downtown brownstone.


Even then, every hen has

herpes now and again! And every

cock drips green slime

from the tip, from

time to time!

What’s the big deal?

I would take a venereal

disease over one more

wasted evening spent writing 

bullshit analogies 

on Hegel and phenomenologies

any day of the week.


Bitch, please?

You got me weak.


And you almost got me for real, 


you sneaky piece of work. 

Caught me masochistically 

enjoying narcissistically

avoiding all the loved-ones

in my life who I just thought were too 

annoying to be worth 

a bit of time.


While I’ve got no love for

Lady Law,

it’s still a crime 

of the most contemptuous kind

to ignore the ones who care

pulling out your hair

to set up home

in a sealed silent room 

full of brilliant minds

wasted on drawing lines

between points made 

by two long dead dudes. 


You want my advice,


Take a hike

and take your friend Finals

with you too.


I’m gonna take a walk

and call my sister

and feel the sun burn

my translucent skin

while I tell her that I miss her,

because even though

you made this week

a shit streak

on the pants of my life,

I’ve got no more room to

hate you. I’m moving on

to the worthwhile nights

and bar fights

and triumphs

and fuck ups.


So yeah,

Fuck Off.

Flaming Heart via author