(excluding vocal ad libs)

I wake up
Face, half-buried in a pillow
I yawn, mouth agape
Stretch
In some weird way
Flail
Like a spazzing animal
I drag myself upwards
And out of bed
Feet-first
To some degree
Pace back and forth, unnerved
I know, it can in fact get worse
I've seen
You'll write this book
This book that I have
Provided you fodder for to write
You'll spend
All your time
All your energy
All my ideas
Stolen from me to write your book
That I won't read
Even in the restless hours
Of the night
You have to
Hold my hand
Otherwise I'm just a
Useless
Mold of flesh
Who can't walk on his own
And who can barely
Dress
And
It'd be cute when I'd try
But
Not to me
And it'd be cute when I'd cry
But not to me
You don't understand
I eat because
You offer
Not because
I earned it
I take because
You offer
Not because I earned it
And if I feel
The way I felt or said I ought to feel
Then
I'd refuse it
But I don't
I misuse it
Instead
I'll sit down at my desk
And I'll
Show the back of my head
To those who walk by
My door
But that's it
And that's how it is
For hours on end
How it always has been
Since that day I
Buried myself in the sand
And covered the hole with a rock
I found while out
Looking for myself
Or someone similar
Someone who looked like me
Someone certified in
Impersonation
Area of expertise

I come home every day
From wherever it is
I'd been
And I'll lock myself in my bedroom
My sanctum
Complete silence
Because I've no tie
To hang
Around the knob
And I'll pleasure myself
I'll pound away, thrashing
Until my head
Begins to throb
And the pain only subsides for
About
An hour
At most
Maybe more, if
I'm lucky
But then it creeps back
And settles
Like townsfolk
I look around, and around
As if for something
But nothing
Too specific
I'm reminded, then
Of this mess I sleep in
While the smog
Almost suffocates me
My own homemade smokescreen of
Failure
Combined with pettiness
Bad decisions
And
Loss of appetite
I remember now that the turnout
Is always better
In a cluttered workspace
And when someone comes in
And cleans
Usually without my permission
Well then, it
Derails
My train of thought
And I should be looking after myself, but
Instead
I'm frantic about the passengers
If they're okay
Their destinations
Relaying their respective whereabouts
To their families
Letting each one know that
They'll be home
By morning
The latest

And you
You've worn in
The seat
You've formed
An indentation
From sitting
So long
In the same
Position
You've always been
Found
But lately
You've been found
Differently
Tracing patterns in your wrists
Not constantly, but
Intermittently
And
Without a pen in hand
Making mental shopping lists
With no intention of
Going out
To allow some sense
Of accomplishment
To cross each item
Out

I don't think
This life
Was meant
For this host
So should I
Lend it out?
Or should I
End it now?
You see, today
I am a dreamer
With no means to an end
And tomorrow, I won't
Be a day closer to
Achieving what it is I dream about
Because the dream itself
Becomes that much farther
So I'll go on
All glossy-eyed
Taking wrong turns
Until I am 360 degrees
In the same direction
Coloring on walls: my version
Of rebelling
I have no cause
I have no purpose
I have no energy
I have no courage
I have
No plan
No guidance to follow
And at this point,
No bleach
To swallow

So maybe, if I pull
Some strings
Trick someone into
Falling in love with me
He'll give me reason
To believe I'm not
Worth nothing
Since I need
Affirmation from
A separate entity
It's not so simple
I can't be nonchalant
The urge to feel loved
Is the human condition
Otherwise known as
All you could ever want

You taught me
Never to
Wrap the string around more
Than one finger
When traveling by
Balloon
So that
If I am in a good place
Or floating above
Somewhere familiar
I may easily
Let go
And fall
Far down below
To where they'll welcome me
To where
I just might need to be