Jimmy was tripping.
This morning was a while ago.
Last night was a few days back.
Today was Tuesday
and Monday was last week.
He remembered what happened
a few weeks ago last Friday.
And March seemed to be
the longest month he's had here.
February was sometime last year,
January was as far off as WW2
And December was as old as Rome.

This evening seems like a hazy plan,
and tomorrow was too far into the future,
Jimmy's mind wasn't spacious enough
to store lines as big as next week.
He couldn't make out the words on TV
they've got his eyes unfocused,
but even through the fog,
he couldn't understand
and at the same time not understand
the news.

He wasn't on drugs.
But his mind was messed up.
He'd been in lock down,
four weeks now,
barely did he leave the house,
or make out what time had passed.
This was his only safe way out.