where is the footstone?

Last night,
as i drove home from a party that i didnt belong at,
i made some decisions-
not the important ones though.
i went to the cemetery-
thought for a while.
i stared enviously at
Margaret J. Hoffman
(1921-1997) and
Peter R. Solis
(1919-1943).
they were good listeners.
the didnt pretend
to understand, they just
nodded with
pursed lips.
the rest of the drive was silent.
i honestly dont remember it.
i could only think of you.
screw stoplights.
i pulled into my driveway
and thought i would cut the extended metaphor crap
that you dont like
so you could understand this.
here is my helplessness.