Mother, I've forgotten
What the sun looks like,
What it feels like on my
Cellophane skin, cold as
Ice, I wonder if I will melt
Too if I try to get a glimpse.
I wonder if the sun is angry
At me for reminiscing with
The enemy. I'd be too, Angry
I mean. I never bothered to
Open the curtain to my tomb
[it is now much too stuffy to
Be a room] and my phone,
[Still connected with a wire]
Refuses to be kind. It must be
Angry too, I think. I might always
Be listening to the voices of those
That might as well be dead, they are
Always saying the same damn thing.
"Where are You?"
"Where have you been?"
"Why are you hiding,
You stupid thing?"
"Life waits for no one, not even you."
"Do you want to die in that room of yours,
Under your flowered bedspread, Surrounded
by the candles your sister Bought you for your
Do I? I would love a change of scenery,
But I cannot move. My bones have grown
Soft While I lay here trapped in the thoughts
Of Yesterday's misery. I'd much rather watch
The Clouds ride the wind like nomads during the fall,
Better yet, I'd like to be a nomad, living by the day
Instead of dreaming [fretting] of tomorrow, but who's
To say that their lives are as magnificent as the stories
Of our younger years say? those nomads might have been
like me once before realizing that life is short, and
that adventure comes to those who seek it.