None of it really matters anymore
the amount of time I spent contemplating time
is maddening
I gave it a shot
the good life
but all I got were nicotine stained fingers
and a few shreds a few loosely remembered good stories
we’re all dead now anyways
just waiting for the boatman to come
calling our names
as we pay the toll of clocking out
I have senoritis
I have writer’s block
I have ****** stumps instead of fingertips
you have your own life now
your own looking glass to pass through
and this sigh
says infinitely more
than I ever could