Lying in bed, listening to the ice cubes melt

while I melt into my mattress




about all those people

I don’t know

and all those people

who don’t know me

the ones before

and those after

a whole history.

I stare at empty space,

and know what I’m going to do.

People try

but not even 10 percent.

People love

but not even 20.

How can they?

As mannikins?

As in-human robots?

There is something tired

about their efforts

Something, unwilling

They scream on the roadways

to feel more human.

They honk

to make noise.

If you can make music all day

it will sing inside of you

at night.

I have always wanted

my own mind.

I follow clues

like a detective

learning a crime

Those murders in my mind


turn into hours

as time fades



make-up my


in the dark.

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