What was it?
I was nothing, sitting on an ant farm couch.
We were all coming home drunk
In intervals
And taking off our clothes sliding into bed
With our respectives.
I was an ant on a farm,
Digging in lines of people
What will I do when my parents are gone?
You morbid little ****.
Lucky little me, born. Significant as
An ant on a farm
Or all alone where I'm just as real
As the people who talk to me
At parties or in my mind.