Dilaudid and Other Delights

I slept in the darkness of caves
And remember laying thick sheets of
Drywall with my hands so that the
Walls were acceptable and white but now
I can’t really tell the difference, I mean
It still looks like the resigned alienation of
Objects and terrible consequences
I treasure those dreams, in these moments
Of summertime opiates to Lemon Drop
Burning in the oblivious sun by the lake
In awe, sluggishly, of the blossoming trees
Cleaning bathrooms for a living
Only way to survive in the dark times
Now, otherwise, I read about torture and
It’s like I have to say something about it as
If there were something sane to say
Jesus, man, I tell you, when you’re high
Nodding beneath a sublime sky, pretty girls
In the grass to the west waving in the breeze
You know, you can’t sell moments and the
Only torture of that life is
not being able to take a shit
You’re the living dead! I’ve heard assholes say it
They maintain that late capitalism is all there is
With a straight face even, telling me I’m crazy
Words like Bipolar and Schizotypal and substance-abuse dripping with
Condescension, the subtext immediately understood
(Sensitive, unproductive stranger who also happens
To enjoy feeling like a fucking prince). This is
Sadness; when all you want is to listen to music and
Escape from caves via slow walks down the cavesidewalks
But you’ve got to listen to someone tell you to want
The ability to buy more things, except more opiates
Because the wrong set of terrorists profit.