I'm sick to the bone,
quivering by the bus station all alone.
I pull my eyes into a straight line.
Steady my feet on the ground.
But the world around me is obscure.
I may vomit or fall asleep,
as I get on my feet
The cold is holding me down
Making me feel suicidally sublime.
as footsteps echo around me.
the static in my brain is making me insane
I may beat my head to the curve or kill someone.
It seems funny to me
I can bend the world to my momentary will
but can't control my own shit
An ironic pacifist