glued to this the chair.
My legs rubber.
My feet cement shoes.
My bottom of blubber
is taking a sweet snooze.

My eyes weren't closed.
So, I could see the door.
If I rose, I could crawl
across this floor.

But my lift-off
wouldn't take off.
And my arms hung
as sausage links.
I swung them to and fro
like a ** that's drank
too many drinks.

If I grew a pair of wings
I'd fly off this chair
and do things.
Not stare at the walls
waiting for what tomorrow brings.