I'm not gonna make it.
Passed that line.
Into normal.
And all the responsibilities.
I'm not capable.
Of having.

So, instead.
It's just sheer panic and trying.
Not to die.
Through these invisible meaningless.
Meals.  I eat.
To keep myself alive.

And the acid burn of my.
Aborted attempts.
At being something more.
Than anger.
Frustration.
Walking through anonymous streets.
Chased out of the pubilc.

With no one.
To talk to.