and oh

now I'm trying to be assertive, I'm making plans
want to rise to the occasion, yeah meet all their demands
but all I do is just lay in bed
and hide under the covers

или

so I've been hanging out down by the train's depot.
no, I don't ride.
I just sit and watch the people there.
and they remind me of wind up cars in motion.
the way they spin and turn and jockey for positions.
and I want to scream out that it all is nonsense.
all your lives one track,
can't they see it's pointless?
but just then, my knees
give under me.
my head feels weak
and suddenly
it's clear to see
it's not them but me,
who has lost my self-identity.
as I hide behind
these books I read,
while scribbling
my poetry,
like art could save a wretch like me,
with some ideal ideology
that no one can hope to achieve.
and I am never real;
it is just a sketch in me.
and everything I made is trite
and cheap
and a waste
of paint,
of tape,
of time.