this tirade of feelings, the conversations in my head,
the silent hum of nothingness in one of my ears,
So I lay where I feel safe,
under the covers, on my bed.
I trail off for hours, feeding silently to what may never be.
Holding off the things I need to do, the places I need to be.
The laundry rolls its eyes, the dishes sigh for a while,
how lucrative it seems in my head, to just 'Bibbity-Bobbity' it from my haven, where at least for now, I want to die.
Death is soft, like your favorite cardigan
Putrid, perhaps, like a day-old shower,
Smells and victory from the night before linger in the air
Autumn foliage and venomous salamanders, cheesy karaoke dates, and Pachinko winnings
They like to sit bare feet, you follow their lead
Robot babies and empty onsens
Disney fantasies and 80s rock
A fridge full of food, Kheer that reminds you of home, a glass of water, endless jars of supplements, a hot shower,
seem so far away, so unattainable, from under your blanket town
So you lay there some more, and try to sleep,
but the owls find out!
Now it's you and them, the nocturnal gang, trying to figure it out.
