its all

It's All Good

by McCutcheon
I lay in bed, on my bed
there is nothing closer or farther away
pain is sharp, it hurts
I lay numb, unfeeling
the walls are moving in
claustrophobic isolation all alone closed
I put on my favorite CD but can not hear
I open a book, I can’t read
a magazine, I can’t focus
a comic book, it’s beyond my comprehension.
Everything is wrong
all my good insights of who I am are gone
nothing, nothing
I turn on the television
I would hate myself for this-
but that would be a step up
I watch not one program and glance at everything
surfing with the remote
there goes time
precious and hard to acquire
when I’m old it can only get worse
nothing, nothing
suicidal depression and afraid to fly
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