If Sneezes were Horses, then Beggars Would…Sneeze, Probably

O man – what art thou? Thou’rt not mighty
Clingingly pathetically to a Kleenex box
Instead of wielding a conqueror’s sword
Lifting patent medicines, not wine, to thy lips

Thy sneezing and wheezing will not win thee worlds
The book unread though open in thy lap
Thy darked-orbed eyes unseeing and unseen
Thy wretched, reddened nose – all is despair

And snot that runs in foul, polluted streams
O man – thou art little more than Nyquil-dreams!

Cobwebs lined up around me
Asleep, in a coma
In a trance within my cocoon
Dead to the world,
It sees only my skin
And assumes there's life within

I move achingly
Fighting against the bond
Every string clingingly drops by
I move, freer now, freer than ever
Every second, breaking through
Every moment brand new.

I may not travel again
I may not even work

Curious conversation
With the gift shop clerk

I like the silence most of the time
But then there comes the fear

I call my loved ones clingingly
Ah! Their voices in my ear

It's very hard to imagine
To forever disappear

I am also ambiguous
Not pure. Not now. Not here.