I stopped reading dostoyevsky today
the blackness of hope
clapping for the crowd's sake
I just can't seperate the world that may be
from the world that can't be

I think I'll try some lighter subjects
perhaps some sci-fi or maybe short stories
the lump in my soul is probably benign
I'll have my shrink check it out
then again, maybe that's just the multi-verse
escaping through barely breathable cracks
(where did i put that key again?)

I tried to sleep it off last night
I woke in the wrong century
who knows what will happen in the morning
what steps lead to emergence
from the world that is