I’d like to be someone else, the other that’s pictured in my head. Life altogether, plans and goals with dash of hope. I tend to think everyone else has their shit straight, if shit is supposed to be straight. Why all this crooked hateration? Maybe queer is the new black, maybe being all right is for WASPy cockie cutter Pleasantvillers. I meet these young ones now or see them walking around all joe smiley and being so damn well-adjusted, it sickens me. Sickens me green. Oh envy of envies! nigh the fallen hand of fate strikes me bojangled. I want them though, be them, possess them, try on new suits to get away from my life cycle. If we have souls I’d rather switch or erase this one. No matter the accolades or inspiration, the sordid catchall, moneymaking, choose your destiny best sellers. Mantras for madmen. I relish their favors. Jealous eyes stab daggers at GPS targets. It all has to with forgiving yourself. That appears to be a brook half paddled. Some play imitation games, I’m in a blame game clanging cups against monopoly jail cells. Maybe me is the key.