a plastic bag of clothes

the morning comes. I don’t want to pull myself into another day of the charade. come tomorrow I will feel the same and still decide to play again. still looking for sense. I am the punchline they forgot to tell. 

the bed weighs heavy with a dream of being held: I fell in love asleep with someone stuck in my subconscious. they don’t exist now I’m awake and I have no one else to blame. more comfort is found in the lovers I dream than the worlf that I wake to each day. sleep is not enough to fuel the drive to look for more. I say things need to change. my bones are weak and worn. the body is a plastic bag of clothes I want to give away.