It Shouldn't

Today the sun has

Come up in the west.

Someone has 

Intoxicated the air 

And the peeps are

High on weed and

On top of the world.

Here, 

I roll on my couch,

Complaining about

The heat, choking

On mediocre poetry and 

Hating myself more.

Tomorrow all the same,

He'll set in the west.

Peeps dry and dumb

And world yellow again.

Same couch,

Same poems and with 

Same kind of hate,

I conduct myself here.

The peeps, the world 

Mean nothing to me.

In fact. It shouldn't.