Science Fiction from Pseudocide by John Parker, Jr.

Give it a night. Give it another night. Give it another month more. Maybe it’ll feel right. If I wait long enough, maybe my telephone will ring. If I wait long enough, maybe I won’t feel a thing.

And we won’t talk, and can’t be friends. And I won’t see your face again. And you won’t ever leave the house. Won’t feel a thing, or think about you and me.

So I comb my hair to look the way it was when we first met. And I started smoking your organic brand of cigarettes. And I walk around the harbor every time I get the chance. To find you sitting on a bench reading science fiction.

So we could talk, and just be friends. And I won’t kiss your face again. And we won’t have to figure out the way we got where we are now. Or make you feel bad about the past. Cause love it never made much sense. Like all the things I do without. Won’t feel a thing, or think about you and me.

And it gets worse when I get home. I watch tv and eat alone. I read a book or write a song. Cause there’s no message on my phone.

• Alternative
• Lo-fi
• acoustic
• folk punk
• indie
• punk
• New Bern