It is one of the fifty five ways to find a friend,
Do they plead ignorance when you need it the most?
Do they hold up that gentle facade till the very end?

When you don't need reality,
Do they make it go away with something witty?

Even with grief and sorrow written all over their faces,
Do they laugh , laugh and laugh, till they don't have to hide their tears?
Do they call you home when you are moping in your dark spaces?

Can they hide their sorrow,
To Make you forget your fated tomorrow?

Their eyes may wrinkle a little lesser each time they smile,
Their voices may not quite seem to be fully existent,
But you are still taken by their mirth, as a balm for a while.

*Oh how I pity the departing soul that doesn't have friends that they didn't buy,
But how much more pity I have, for those whose friends cannot lie.

Laying awake at ungodly hours,
I've often stared into a ceiling that I reflexively believed to be present.

But, whenever I did find myself at leisure from sweating and sleeping,
it was always too dark to make sure that the roof was still there. And this invoked a primal fear within me.

If you need to ask why I felt afraid, you've never been a father.

A father closer to the grave than any of the naive goals he'd set for himself as a child.
A father who had traded his breath and blood for bread and a burrow.
*This uncertain roof, often made me ask, "Has it been worth it?"

Every chat up line I ever tried was a waste of time and then I died a hundred times or more waiting for her to come but the door stayed closed, believing I was supposed to be the epitome of masculinity, steroids to increase virility and a mustache because it suited me I was irritated instantly each time that she rejected me,
I suspected a conspiracy,
but
she did it on her own.

As much as I hate to admit it
I'm dreaming
I wonder how I got here and I wonder what will wake me.

Which will make it worse?

Sometimes sounds will shake me up a little
stir some of that dust that never needed to settle.
Scrape off some of that ash that piles on the sides
and even churn some of that thick...
When does our modern era begin?
When you're young was it 14 months ago?
  When you're old was it in the 90s?
   When you want to wake up, can you?
    When in doubt, wake up
     Still in doubt
Sometime between now
and then'

If I stare into the empty in front of my eyes long enough
I can see my heartbeat

If I sleep long enough
I can forget everything exists, and fade into these sheets

If I go without food long enough
I can stop feeling in my hands