Dear God,
Remember when I had dreams?
Surely life is about being young.
Every idea
Is a good idea
Before you get old
And die.
I'm just this sometimes scaly,
Soft,
Corpse;
A bag of flesh
Hauling around
A hazy head.
And I'm not entitled to this.
How can I ask you to pick me up again
When I am not
Really
Oppressed?
Someone is sitting on my brain
Telling me it's going to be a good day.
"But it's 2 p.m."
I don't utter.
I guess, if I am exactly where I am supposed to be,
It is
Okay.
