I can’t explain the wretched
Wear and tear of my
Spotty self concept
And my unshakable desire
To watch the World burn.

I eat more than I can earn.

I don’t know the meaning
Of concentration
Because I’ve been leasing
This concentration camp
In twenty-four hour spurts.

And now my imagination hurts.


I’ve slept all day,
spent the whole night
to myself.
This could be the end,
My friend, my caffeinated friend

But its never too late to make amends.

So if you pass through an airport
Long enough for them
To scan your brain chip,
It would be nice if you could
Tell the men behind the curtain, “Hi.”

Because now its time to pull their world over my eyes.