you lay in bed
and transfix your eyes on any old thing
this is as easy as life gets

they find the ceiling fan
it isn't on, but it's doing just the same as you
this is good, right?

you ponder on things
that are so far gone
like the last time you hugged your brother
or the last time you wrote him a letter
and never sent it out
downward spiral

you become lost; cradled by longevity
but in an unsettling way
you think about how life is too drawn out
to do this everyday
this mindset is torture

atrocious clouds, unimpeded
they encompass your brain
and an unwelcome curious side
consumes you
*i wonder what death is like?