I feel so vulnerable, unable, incapable,
hiding under the table,
living in a fable, a dream,
waiting for someone to beam me away,
waiting for something to lead me astray,
waiting for my pie in the sky, waving goodbye…goodbye…
…but I’m still here, over there in the corner
with little jack Horner,
but I made him cry and now he hates me
and I just wanted to get high
but the guilt is meddling with my good mood,
peddling food for thought,
making me brood over misplaced advice,
and an unlucky roll of the dice, a wrong spin,
has left me sore in my own skin,
still waiting for this life to begin with a bang,
but instead a pang in my head puts me to bed,
unable, incapable, of sleep,
hiding under a table that I cannot keep,
falling into holes that are too deep,
climbing hills that are too steep,
and the mill of time will creep on
as I walk through the landscapes in my mind,
a blindfold to make me bold enough
to grieve for the grain of youth lost,
as my feet weave me through the uncertain terrain
that truth cost me, and us all, call me…
call me…out of my internal, vacuum packed, cracked,
day dream of a half assed way to live.