Some days I feel like it’s only right
To work when I want,
Play when I want,
Because behind me ticks a clock
Who’s watching from behind his hands.
His name’s Paranoia,
A kind of slick angel who promises
To make me more aware,
More careful, and more prone
To checking my pulse.
But ever since we shook palms,
I’ve forgotten what it felt like to laugh.
Instead, I saunter,
Like a sloth,
A kind of wander where I only
Follow sidewalks and skirt hills.
Nowadays I would rather
Save all my energy and memory
For the days I want to relish.
Tonight I found some sweets
I tucked in a cracked jar long ago.
I have no clue what flavor they are,
But part of me hopes for cinnamon.
Some kind of bite in my throat
To see if I’m awake.
Maybe I’ll try for a mint,
A little clarity in my nose to find
The spice they say is in life.
Perhaps, if I’m lucky,
It’ll be bubblegum. A reminder
Of breaths wasted in a fantastic
Delirium where I wouldn’t know
It was night until I realized there was no sun.
Just five more minutes,
Three hundred seconds
Before I reach in the jar.
Enough time to pain, shudder, consider,
And remind myself that I could regret
Reaching back. Perhaps there are days
Better left fed to a clock,
And perhaps there are times
When being a little paranoid
Is better than a ravenous hunger just
Trying to swallow a little more sun.