The Old College Try

There was a time 
when I was a younger man, 
but probably should have still been considered 
just a boy, 
when I was so desperate 
for a high 
that I huffed spray paint 
from a paper bag. 
All the alcohol and marijuana was gone. 
All the pills and cocaine were gone. 
All the ecstasy and acid was gone. 
It was either sniff glue or huff paint, 
and I chose the latter because 
I'd already tried the former earlier. 
My roommate and I 
had just returned to the house 
after a weekend in Athens 
full of football and parties. 
We smoked the last roach 
on the drive back, 
but it did nothing for the hangover. 
I'd been in a two day stupor, 
and the only relics that remained 
from the experience 
were the sloppy suicide notes in my jean pocket. 
I'd been frustrated 
after getting rejected by a girl 
who had flirted with me all day 
but then pulled away 
when I went to kiss her at night. 
As usual, I wound up being 
the last one awake 
after everyone else went off 
to sleep 
or fuck 
or both. 
I got on the internet 
at my roommate's girl's apartment 
and looked at pictures of Kurt Cobain 
while I listened to Nirvana tracks. 
I drank from a bottle of whiskey 
until I fell flat on my face 
on the kitchen floor. 
No one was awake to see, 
but I'm pretty sure 
I'd already made enough 
of a damned fool of myself earlier. 
That's probably why the girl 
changed her mind about me. 
She was smart to shy away-- 
women's intuition and all that. 
My intention was to die 
by drinking myself to death, 
and it wasn't the first time 
I'd given such a plan 
the old college try. 
It was a shit plan 
that failed miserably. 
But I didn't care about that anymore. 
What happens in Athens, stays in Athens. 
Now I was home 
with a throat laced in paint 
and soon there would be 
more alcohol and marijuana, 
so I, for the moment, was at peace. 

 -- Scott Thomas Outler