Lying* in my bed
--reading ...

It is November, I am in NYC
--25 pages later ...

I am standing on a street corner in Istanbul
Outside the Kybele Cafe, near Sultanahmet tram station
Two British men, Ethan and Dylan, are talking ...

Senses engaged.
Drinking in sights, sounds, smells of Istanbul.
As I can feel the excitement of this city.
Anticipating the story that is unfolding before me.
I am immersed, no longer in NYC.

Just then, a door slams, I am jolted back from Istanbul.
Back to my bedroom in NYC ...

How long have I been lost in this book?

Sleep is my favourite hobby
No one knew that I would be this way
Not even I knew I'd be here now
The days are shorter and so are
My years
The past is looking better
The future seems twisted
But I know after it'll be a nice ride
Sleeping like I'm on a tide
All I wanna ******* do is glide
Far off  onto the other side

Sleeping is my favourite hobby
Spread out on my bed
And deep in my dreams
Is where I wanna stay
If I wake up one more time I think I'll cry
Don't get me wrong I don't wanna die
But the state of sleep
Is something I wanna dig my myself in deep

You know what is in your heart
The one you can't quit
No matter if he's been wrong before
If he hurt you
You hold to him in your heart
When your words say hatred
And your actions say stranger
But your eyes say love

You know what is in your heart
It was all the those days
Of peace and love
I heard you say
You hold him in your heart
And you can't let him go
You hold him in your heart
And you tell him to stay

You hold him in your heart
While holding your resentment
And your anger
And your fears of what will be
Well if you hold him in your heart
Hold to him outwardly also

You are totally ruined
From your head to your shoes
You’ve got a crippling case of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.
When you don’t get your way
That’s when you always choose
To sing your own arrangement of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

You’re alone most every night.
You call people up on the phone
Things just ain’t going right
But still you sit home alone.
Your life would be better
If you had somebody to love.
But nobody comes back again
Nobody you approve of.

You are totally ruined
From your head to your shoes
You’ve got a crippling case of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

You take them out to dinner
And they babble on and on.
You buy candy and flowers
But later they’re still gone.
It can’t be stuff about you
Because you are a dream.
It must be in who you choose
Not as sweet as they seem.

When you don’t get your way
That’s when you always choose
To sing your own arrangement of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

Would you know how to act
If everything was fine?
Or would you work overtime
To find a cause to whine?
You don’t do a thing in life
To change your mournful song.
Nothing good to sing about
Something’s always wrong.

You are totally ruined
From your head to your shoes
You’ve got a crippling case of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.
When you don’t get your way
That’s when you always choose
To sing your own arrangement of
The Spoiled Baby Blues.

Pride and vanity
The rooster crows
But if it try to fly to the heavens
It will fail

Its ambitions and goals
Are inappropriate
It should know it can crow to the heavens
But it can't fly there

Your lips taste like regret and regret tastes like liquor
Its making me feel better but I know Im getting sicker
Lungs lost in ash, decay and wasted dollars
voice spent from serendipitous holler's
Into the night screaming crying
waking, coffee, keep on trying.

Oh the energetic exchange when like minded souls meet
Leaves rotting on the air, suddenly somehow smell sweet
The sun shines in a way that your reminded its a ball of fire
And even as it sets, you have yet to tire
so awake, so dizzy, so much to think over
I rarely find sleep, hardly ever when I'm sober
Certainly not when I'm drunk from your embrace
A million words to describe your face
All falling short and failing to capture
The light in your eyes, at last the rapture.