What am I when I’m sitting?
Am I a tool?
Am I lost?
I’m using my brain, I’m typing shit
But I can never recall
What I said
It feels dead
It feels like thoughts are gone
What am I when I’m sitting?
Bountyless, boiling blood

With potential bubbling up and floating away
Levels lowering every day
I had hoped that clearing away the old shit would reveal some super special
Thoughts, some ground-breaking, sky-shattering, skull-fucking ultra
Ideas
But the ground and the sky and my mind
Are fine
They weren’t destroyed and rebuilt better
They weren’t upset, no transformation ever took place
Potential just bubbled away

When it’s night and I realize that I sat all day
With the hotseat cooking my ass
I let defeat take over me
I let uselessness last
I sleep in it
I dream in it
And when I wake, it feels just fine
Then I do it again
Again
And again
Hundreds and hundreds of times

When I sit, I don’t know what I am
But fine, fat, and stupid
Come provoke me to wise up and stand
Is the message in the mirror I plan to slam
My face into
If I can remember to

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