You sleep like a child. Start the slumber induced 
Time warp to breeze through the inevitable 
Like a montage. The mundane you cannot escape: 
The long commute home, reckless conversations, 
Basic hygiene, forced pleasantries, society’s fun-filled 
Pendulum. Power through and pretend you’re too tired. 
You are not exceptionally exhausted, just perpetually so. 

Let’s make believe you are in charge of your life. 
Stuck and in awe of people who have everything 
Pieced together and crumbling at the same time.
You are not trash but you’re no one’s treasure either. 
With your fingers you can feel the earth, your eyes 
Can process photons, just sensory spares of the universe,
Dwindling and disassociating. Don’t ask me 
If I feel the same way. I’m too distracted to notice.