I am –
I am not here right now –
if this prison knew, truly,
how few hours I clock within it
on a never-ending daily basis
they’d fire my ass on the spot.
I’m too busy holding on to memories
and how they made me feel –
like when you try to force yourself
back asleep just to continue a dream…
But I guess that’s what life’s supposed to be –
a series of alarm clocks with
a snooze button as dangerous as satan’s kiss.
So who should I be?
Cause apparently ‘myself’ was a matricidal answer.
A dreamer (stupid boy)? Awake (soulless drone)? Just a little groggy (lazy, unmotivated shit)?
I no longer have the courage to solve – and maybe it’s better that way. For now, I listen.