Breathing
Sitting in my flesh colored room
my brain is itching
boredom tickling.
The clock is making
a humming sound
like a wounded bee.
I think I have nothing to do.
I have so much to do.
Outside, the city moans
it would suck me out there
if I weren't so heavy.
It's shattering my thoughtlessness
with gentle whispers
of collisions and machinations
and holes deeper
than a man's body.
I make my daily promise:
I won't betray you.
Each day I betray
to keep the promise going.
Each day I go smack
into this world
framed by my eyeball
as each day
rehearses its suicide.