As a feral horse unstable,
incapable of nine-to-fiving.
The brochures and 'zines,
TV screens. Hey, look alive, kid.
I looked deep inside myself.
It felt a lot like when we'd go
dumpster diving.
Called to talk, just salt and chalk dust
make me up.
I can't, I can't--
you're breaking up.
Every pill I'm swallowing,
following what I'm prescribed.
The r's and x's
are in essence what keep me alive.
We see all of the letters
but never any of the reasons,
never why's.
I'm disconnected from.
I itch with boredom.
A phony one phoning it in,
empty well and fully sick.