I dared myself to sow
pieces of cloth together.
However, when the thread
grew longer and longer,
time elapsed in a feather.
Now, have you got the spoon?
I yearn for a mind boggler.
I need something to churn my
demons from bed-kicking,
ripe-sniping, and floozy-finking.
The river is but a joke in a tumor of
eruptions subsuming the everyday fate
of a television viewer.
Have I wronged myself?
Why yes, of course I have.
I am too dramatic.
Everything is not a crisis situation, yet,
that is the only why I know how to
handle things.
Unfortunately that is how I
function.
Am I gone? Am I almost gone?
Am I going? Has she left the
building yet? Will she return?
Do they even want me back?
I do not ask these questions.
The blowout my mind
everyday I wake up.
I am depressed.
There is no escape
because I don't do drugs.
*the title is inspired by Syd Barret's Terrapin.
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