It’s pretty late
You’re standing across the room, talking to someone or something but I’m just here
These are your friends after all
But you look sad, like me
Like usual

Someone’s pouring me a drink and
I‘ve got that ichy feeling you get when you shouldn’t smoke your last cigarette
But you know you will
They say something to me and laugh

I’m sandwiched between a fantasy and crushing reality
like beautiful ideas that become **** when you write them down on paper
My feet are shaking, ready to move (anywhere)
I am the inches of terrible terrible air
Between the fruit on the tree and your fingertips
(you, tied to the ground, like me)

You can shout all you like, Tantalus
I know you
You’re just like me
We’ll never get anywhere
We’re frozen assets
We’re “get well soon” cards given out in the ******* cancer ward
We’re racecars stuck in the mud

But what do I know?
Why are we even here?
Do we have anywhere else to go?
I know it’s late
2:45 in the morning and raining
But I’ve got a third a tank of gas
and you’ve got that look in your eye
let’s get the **** out of here.

My emotions are troubling
They have me kicking my bucket list
They have me posting an arrest because there were signs of struggling
I swear one more morning of this icy grey weather
Will have me peeling off my eyelids and wearing them as leather
But just before my tragic fall I'll plot out an agenda
Set up a plastic table with my cell phone in the center
And start drafting out a list of all the things that I'd do better

I'd stumble to the garden and put up a black tent
Call it an apartment and start charging people rent
Between reality and insanity, I'm sitting comfortably on the fence
Though my garden tent would only get garden rats as tenants

I'd open up a business bank account and only save up twenty five cents
Blow it all on my garden rats and starting pretending that we're friends
Pretend the rodents were Pokémon and are the newest trend
But man I'd be lying if I say that I'd pretend

Second on the list I'd give up clothing in general
Stop doing the laundry and hang myself in the pegholds
Start lazing around Saturdays in the jammies I was born in
I'd be a lonely conversationalist
But I bet the neighbors would be talking

Thirdly on this sturdy list of packaged up fantasies
I'd take this heart to the bakery and have a cake made of half of it
Sell myself at a bake sale with biscuits and poppy seeds
Decorate my face with chocolate and cherries and margarine
To top myself off I'll throw in coffee at half price
But only because the rats are starving and ate from the cake thrice

Forthly, I dont think I'll write a list before the end of my life
Besides I have an ichy head and think I might die of lice
So as karma comes around I'll take her sound advice
Before I die I'll act real nice so I don't become a poltergeist