My body laid out on the couch

Pain and uncertainty,

Frail paternity

And furious frustration.

That dark magic

And mental castration.

Tricking my head

Wished I was dead

And want to live forever

Or wished I’d been never

Wished that I’d been never born

Too young, too old, too worn

And nothing resembled progress.

A trembled compress and relentlessness

And my body laid out on the couch.

My body laid out on the couch.

Is there some way to get off,

Or someway to stay on.

Up before the sun has shone,

In bed before the day is gone.

My hands in my head,

My head in my bed,

My face all raw and red,

And all those stupid things I said.

The answer’s adrift,

My minds in a rift.

It is what it is.

It is what it is.

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