Now that every cough is a death sentence
I’m not afraid of departing
Sleep feels like tranquil demise
And wakeful hours feel like dreamy torture

I’m happy, but I’m so bored
So stultified
That it might as well be sadness

The sun trips the light fantastic
East West East West East West
Changing colours shamelessly

All I do is see chew and yearn
I cannot feel
I have no texture, no friction