Let the stars in the sky plummet
on their own
Let the flowers sway
The wind is just the wind
and nothing more
Let the angels sing their songs
and let the devils
shed their snakeskin
Let all the girls and boys
my age be happy
Let the sunshine sliver
across their skies
Let them walk into the sunset with love
ablaze in their eyes
And leave  me free
to wonder why
I do not feel the same

Being young but unable to go out
Being able to go out but not feel young
The sky is nothing but a wide stare
into dry nothingness.
The drinks are a distant memory.
The moon smiles on the empty cities.
There's nobody to smile back.
The Monday mornings are not hated.
The Friday nights aren't to be thanked
in as much as opening
a canned sardine
with the edge of a dull knife.

Going to bed is not a rare occasion.
Staying in it is ubiquitous.
There's no race against a clock.
We're waiting to be freed
from our own homes.
As if the constant crowds
gave us joy in the first place.
Waiting...
to soar like a bird
and have the bliss
of a stained liver once again.

Because it's like
a lightning bolt
when you're in love
with two vivid streaks
in the form of the hands
of a clock
love also strikes
but never in the same
place for a second time


But when
you fall out of love
what could be worse
than the slow, unending rumble
of each tick of time?
what could be more redundant?

When you're 21
and barely
employed
and wholly
depressed
people expect
you to pull
your ****
together
and handle it
well,
you ought to say
f*ck you
**** is nasty
and I expect
to flush mine
down
the toilet drain