How does it feel

To be lounging in the sun

Without a care in the world

With but a drink in hand

How does it feel

Ms. Sunshine?

I used to say I wouldn’t compromise

In the lazy afternoons

Before I realized a thing or two.

And now someone gets my kicks for me

And blows kisses to collapsing bridges

For me, from the knee-high plane

I’m just a rolling stone

I am meant to roll on

But I am stuck in the shallow waters here

Dried out by the 

Big orange

In the sky.

So we play Napoleon

But his suit is too short

And we don’t like ponies

We get so bored. 

And what’s worse

Someone somewhere

Could have believed us.

There is a certain sadness for me, here, in Florida. I wake up to someone screaming just outside my doors, which do not close. Every morning I wake up. 

I eat something tasteless, more or less. There is a certain hopelessness in my mother. 

I go on the porch where the branches are overtaking the lanai and I listen to the birds sing. All sorts of birds, all sorts of songs, woodpeckers, even. 

I sit there with my laptop open and I force myself to do some sort of work. I listen to music. I go to the gym when it is time to go. I drink coffee and Gatorate and local citrus juices. I take off my clothes and tan when the sun is out. 

But there is certain sadness and heaviness in all I do, on the outside. On the inside I am crumbling and boiling and burning, and breaking and rebuilding. 

I am alone here. Marinating in something entirely artificial. Everything I do is not out of necessity, but rather to appear as if I have something to do.

And I know it’s all a matter of shaking this off me. I think. 

I am in serious need of something to do here for 4 months. Help?