This morning I slept until eleven o’clock at night
And then rolled out of bed to say the Pledge of Allegiance
Before ripping the flag off the pole and chucking it into the fireplace.
I sat in an armchair facing the sunrise,
Focusing the translucent rays onto the fabric with a magnifying glass
And wondering if I was fireproof,
But then I thought you might be angry at me for getting soot on the carpet.
I thought about asking you to help me sort through my jumbled neurons,
But then I forgot what day of the week it was and wandered off
Into caves of thought where I could hear my past echoing off the walls.
Drenched in lists of responsibilities and bogged down by laziness,
I copped a feebly rebellious attitude
And donned a façade of logic and persecution
So at least my reflection could override my conscience.
I wish I was eight years old.
I wish I was thirty-five.
I wish I was dead and I wish I’d never been born,
But I just can’t wait to grow up.
I wish I could get out of this locked phone booth
But the line is dead and my mother won’t stop eating the keys.
My only hope is to ride on the backs of my hallucinations
And fraternize with the people I call my friends
Because I don’t know their real names
And I can’t make out their faces through the clouds of smoky resentment
Or see over the brick wall held together by a sticky ego surrounding their souls.
Have you ever seen a soul?
Would you recognize one if it looked you in the eye,
Or spoke your name,
Or trampled over the silly notebooks
Filled with the incoherent ramblings of a twisted saint
That you keep buried in the bottom of your closet?
Would you even recognize the irony of one soul kicking another to death
If it wasn’t your own?
Or would you just continue to stare vacantly at the screen,
Chewing half-heartedly on a greasy triangle of pizza
And not wondering if the sun was ever going to rise again?
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