maybe it is
the smoke
in my lungs
the willie album
playing low
or the deep down
soul weary
loneliness
that tickles
my deadened limbs

but the world
feels off centered
just enough
that i am having issues
telling what is
and what is most certainly
not real
in this prison
of mental construction
of amiable destruction

am i real?
i tell myself
i must be
who would choose
this
ramshackle existence
as their eternity
on purpose
when there are billions
of better options

a fish
on the beach
silently
mouthing prayers
to the darkness
at the edge of
panic blindness
impatiently waiting
on the ever dallying
end.