Who, me?
Oh, I'm doing fine.
I only close my eyes
and hope to die
every other night.

I only imagine
driving over rail road tracks
real slow
praying for impact,
every other day or so.

I contemplate taking a blade,
running it down my veins
and watching myself bleed,
only about once a week.

And don't bother asking
if you're ever on my mind
because it's barely ever.
It's just every second,
of every hour,
all the time.