My internal monologue
Is saturated analogue
It's scratched and drifting,
I've become attached to the idea,
It's all a shifting dream bittersweet philosophy
I've got no idea how I even got here
I'm resentful,
I'm having an existential time crisis
What bliss!
Daylight savings won't fix this mess.
Under-worked and over-sexed
I must express my disinterest.
The rats are back inside my head
What would Freud've said?
I want to wash out my head with turpentine cyanide;
I dislike this…