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.