Being Emo About Shit (pun intended)

A few nights ago, around midnight, my friend and I stood shivering in front of a church.
The street was dark and sleepy, it was a neighborhood street, and I really had to take a shit. The church was hunched over behind us. It was made of brick and only had one car napping in its parking lot.
The light from the church lazily reached around our waiting bodies and faded into the cracked pavement. The light had no warmth to it and my stomach still really hurt.

My friend and I watched two figures, one walking a tiny dog, stagger towards us from the very dark end of the street.


A few nights ago I started to write a poem about this night.
One version was angry
One version was sad
One was questioning & confused
One was hurt, vengeful, furious, apathetic, pointlessly trying to come to some kind of conclusion about the cold air and the large silent church and the tiny frantic dog on the leash that was lit up by the light behind me this long string of luminous shine extending from the mans arm to the neck of the tiny dog This One was trying to understand something about anything that we see and try to comprehend while one half is sloppily illuminated and one half is in murky shadows.

One version included a mother crying on the phone and me doing the same.

When my friend - my amazing and beautiful friend - finally took me home I took the biggest shit I have in years. In that version I had purged myself of it. In this version it's still writhing in my lower intestines and I'm still standing outside that church and I'm still waiting.