I sit around all day

Counting clouds like cutaways

I pull my hair out, strand by strand

I make excuses that catch in the dripping pan

I have not been to school this year

Piled all my books in the fire and watched them disappear

I paint my face with foxes blood

I do what i feel, and ignore what i want

How can it be somehow so essential

That i’m here?

I don’t see the sense