it's the morning but not really and I hear a clock/watch/bomb ticking but sometimes I stop hearing it and it makes me wonder if I'm crazy but not really and my eyelids burn like I've been putting salt in my mascara and my head feels like there's 43 acres of cotton inside but not really and my eyebrows are so heavy and I'm so cold and my eyelashes sting so I know I'm alive but not really
this poem was written under the influence of a bottle of aspirin and 101 proof Kentucky whiskey