Like shards of glass in the back of your throat
waiting for that steady drip

don’t breathe in through your nose or you’ll throw up

and it could be compared to a rollercoaster
but you described it as a soft and quiet floating between trees

like the wind is blowing you through the leaves

and then you said you’ve wasted your life on this
and talk to you when you happen to fall asleep

but it’s been seven days

and you haven’t fallen into this bed yet
I made the bed that you can’t sleep in

because life is just all about horrible irony