I lay here wasting away
Waiting for a hand to come down from the sky
And lift me to a better place

In the meantime I’ll read.

Place the book back on it’s shelf
It tells of a mind that thinks about itself
Knowing myself seems to not help
In fact I’d like to become ignorant, knowledge is hell

The sanctity of my insanity.
I pray for calamity, oh, have I lost my humanity?

Off into the ether these words go, affecting who?
I don’t know.

I should be grateful, but most days I am hateful to a presence unknown
I should use my phone

To call my mom.

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