Living the dream

Cash my receipt

For the gift of sensitivity.

Don’t want anymore to do

With crying in the tube, 

Rather not explain 

To the strangers on the train

It’s just a sad, 

a sad, sad book 

Jesus Christ, how did my nights

Pass me by like I was asleep? 

The sheep I counted 

must be dead by now.

I hope they rest in peace.

Dislike human interaction 

Still, I manifest my own sycophantic.

Imagine what it’s like to be tended.

Not afraid of loneliness.

Not afraid of solitude.

Still, ask me 

if this seat is taken.

Jesus Christ, everything seemed so nice

When the older kids explained it.

As they hung up their moms on the phone

to tell us that they’ve really, really made it.

Maybe I’ll reincarnate 

Into a self-smelling dog. 

An introspection with no demise.

Where I won’t notice life’s a stage,

or stress over fate, or the afterlife,

Or optimistic bullshit that made me cry.

Jesus Christ, how did I live a boring life? 

Wasn’t I young? Did I not breathe? 

A teacher once told me I’d go places.

He must be old and grey by now.

And I,

I still haven’t left my sheets.