I've chased sanity down
with whiskey and ice.
It has been months
since I have fallen asleep sober,
and even longer
since a smile lasted longer
than an ******
or new haircut.

I've come back to rooms
of coasters and candles.
They're mowing lawns
and discussing old events
to renew their youth.
I cannot see past
their prescriptions and remedies
for a tired mind.

I've abandoned meditation
for pills and the limelight.
Old friends lend jokes
and out-dated platitudes,
disclosing pity in mobile apps
and reptilian notions of survival.
Cap and gown,
they congratulate my heart rate.

I've retired from hopes
of fame and recognition,
and now all I want
is to find some time to sleep.
There is no privacy
in this fish-bowl existence,
and there is no piety left
in all that I have strewn.