Abraxas in the bathroom mirror,
I am not here perpetually.

Krakens in the coffee creamer,
"here" is a relative term.

Massive is the pile of things
I'll never get around to touching,
my relative's calls are all forwarded
to voicemail.

Worry is a meal all it's own.

all too much
all too less
miss you so much
cause you've been the best
so far
so near

the past is fading
the future is grey
i am condemned to live in the present
slogging away
exhausted
too cowardly to pass on

I wash my hands
as the Rome burns to the ground
I smoke a cigarette at the balcony
as the city goes in lockdown

my city
my city
It's a ghost-town.
my people
my people
I am lost without.