The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
Then I thought, "No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.
Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.
I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.
I dream too much, work too little.
No, I won't try to escape myself by losing myself in artificial chatter 'Did you have a nice vacation?' 'Oh, yes, and you?' I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.