I lay alone on these soiled sheets
Wondering the future, attempting
To know the unknown, at least believe
Nonsense, romantic illusions of
Comedic jesters balanced secretly
Upon the high shelves of the bookshelf
Nekromantic philanthropy filling the spaces
Between hormone and humane
Perhaps just a little to casual
Given the nature of the beast
For today, though, I am ok
I will fly along the wired route
Amongst routers and switches
That call back my name
Perhaps then in time I shall
Accept the painted toast
With peanuts and pretzels
Perhaps then I shall be .just. .alright.