In my dream, Ohio is the promised land. And I’m meant to write.
I’m in a million pieces. Constantly dividing.
I’m always lost on a strange campus. And I almost miss my cue to dance.
My mother doesn’t like me. And long dead cats are alone in a strange basement.
December is here. I’m somewhat surprised at that. I knew it would probably come, but the world might have decided to end on November 30.
I wouldn’t blame it.
The world must be tired. It’s been here a long time. It’s had to put up with a lot.
I bet (if it could), the world would start spinning really fast so as to throw us all into space.
Maybe we’re still here because the world would be lonely without us.