charlie is twenty-one.
he works for pizza hut
and three weeks and two days ago,
his friend shot himself in the head.
charlie drives in the rain,
the snow, through his tears
and with almost-severed hands
feebly gripping the steering wheel,
battling the storm inside.
charlie used to love many people,
but they seem to be killing themselves
more and more often.
he wishes he could fall in love with the living.
he wishes someone would stick around for him.
charlie decided he doesn't care anymore.
he doesn't want to work at pizza hut
or go to a sixth funeral.
he doesn't want to have dead friends
or fall in love with headstones.
charlie is alone, and he doesn't want to care.