THE IDEA ONE HAS

The idea I have of myself is constantly changing

The current version of me is always updating

Sputtering and spazzing out is part of my branding

and my hook

Until I can fit a square peg into a round hole

Ill remain unplugged

That explains it

How I can't keep up at all

Is that a good thing?

Do I mistake that for progress?

Do I pontificate like this to compensate

and cope for remaining unattached

We're all trapped in this algorithmic prison

Enslaved by ghosts that we've chased away

Left a trail of footprints, etched in red and hollowed

out in black

To the people I've barely made any effort to love

I get carried away with being preoccupied with nothing

of importance all of the time

Time gets away from me

It thinks I'm ugly, battered and bruised, beyond fixing

I get swept under its feet

I'm floored

By the perplexity of it all

Or is that my monkey mind carving up air, creating another matrix

that somebody else will have to unwind

I'm floored that God, or his greatest imposter, is finally showing me a sign

More than the cracks in the ceiling

More than the bullshit that I swallow, the insecurity that I'm feeling

I make everything about me

But how can you not/

You can't escape yourself or your body

You can't ask God for a stunt double

All I have are ideas

Forgotten or scribbled incoherently, like a four-year old, in some

generic notebook

I work on one for a little while

Then abandon it for a new one

Leaving a trail of noteworthy half-efforts

Women I befriend tell me, or my friends behind my back

that they notice that about me

I'm distracted, frustrating to deal with, overreactive

My mind levitates on clouds that serve as plush cushioning

But I'm the calmest, most mild-mannered person I know

There lies the problem, that another lie will just cover up

Am I just complicating things?

Should I take their comments seriously?

They're just like me; all they have is ideas and their perception

Gossip is their fuel and coffee acts as the surrogate

Trying to stand up, stay even while perpendicular

I'm just struggling to gain perspective

No matter which way one puts it

Some things will remain crooked

As I take a seat

Someone leaves a note

Everyone who can stand being close to me has left, including strangers

I open the slip of paper

It says in big font letters, Time News Roman

Oh for the love of God

Shut the fuck up!