Eats and sleeps
Hasn’t had a dream in years

Writes his second hand words
on borrowed time
And still

The writer makes it so
he cannot help but fall from grace
Friends and colors go to paint
The mortgage weighs

On a dreary note the writer thinks
I have so much here and yet nothing to give
A turn key life and even clean sheets

I cannot write because I have changed
I cannot write and so I just exist
Spirits high he just repeats