I have to go to sleep early,
Because my heart is fully addicted,
To the quietude which blankets the nightscape,
Deafening out the distractions that,
I’ve become dependent on to help me forget,
The unbearable questions I’ll never be able to answer.
I have to wake up before I’m rested,
Since I’m afraid that my soul,
In it’s dalliance with transcendence,
Will decide to stay emancipated;
Stealing my breath away so that I might not protest.
I have to keep moving,
Constantly taking my mind,
Trapped in a the shanty of physicality,
Away from where it’s been stuck,
Obsessing over moments that have passed,
From everyone’s mind but mine.
I have to cook dinner,
To bracket out the past and future,
Intoxicating my bestial brain with promises,
Of a satisfaction that,
[I know will never],
Might for a moment show me happiness.
I have to console You,
Offering up platitudes hidden,
Through the craft of argumentation,
As an outdated cure for curiosity,
When you scream out to the void,
The questions I’m too afraid to breathe.
I have to stop being me,
Long enough to start being Me,
But I’ve lost the faith,
I pretended to have that change can be real,
So what do I do,
When I can’t do what I have to?