The ceiling fell, today, right on my head.
Now I’ve got the biggest fucking headache.
I couldn’t move in time so I tried to catch it;
I wound up with too much on my hands.
With nothing to breathe but dust,
Nothing to think about but the savings on my funeral,
And nowhere to go but up, I started digging down.
I had six feet left to go.
It’s hard to think or plan my time
When swimming in the aftermath of bad design.
As if these thoughts could maintain their structure.
I should get used to all these giant fucking headaches.
I found claustrophobia in my shaky hands
So I’ll stay outside if you don’t mind.
I know I’m bitter and it’s all irrational
But save your half-assed mental breakthroughs
For another day.
This constant dizziness: I can’t get used to it.
I need a fucking grip now that there’s nothing falling on me.