I wished for insomnia,
now I got it–
What do I do
I hate punctuation
I deplore the clock, the bombers–
I mean numbers it sends to my eyes–
All of it.
Think there’s a direction, some hall
for me to go down.
Heard a bell,
time for class,
but then I blink, between the
screen and the reality gleam–
I wanted more time, now, laying on
this couch, I’m like, fuck.. Too much.