all
i ever want
is to sleep
or more aptly
lay in that
last moment
of
slippingconsciousness
where everything
loses weight
the slow tumble
intonothingness
wherenoneofthis
madness exists
just fuzz
and a pillow held
extraclose

whatever
anyonehopestofind
here
doesntexist
but far be it
formetojudge
someone else’s
delusion

my sleep cycle
is much the same
as my life
teeteringatthecusp
only seen by
the lunatic brigade
a walking corpse
dreaming of an exit

my art is
a skidmark
bleeding through
the pleated shorts
of creativity
my life
neveramountedto
a stale fart
in a taxi seat cushion
probably progress
by the right metrics
throwingtantrums
in lowercased lethargy

i don’t need
to touch the sun
just that point
wherebluebecomesblack
and gravity doesnt
squeezemyheart
in a perfectly
clenched fist
floating at the edge
of oblivion where
nothingfuckingmatters