lost boy

not agoraphobic
but trapped
somehow
useless
sad

each day begins with possibility
every night ends with regret

breaking the cycle
seems an impossible possibility
when tied to every surface
each bubbling countertop
and pulsing stove

sweating the wastefulness of it all
sweating the lost hours
as they jump from one to two
on and on forward

it would all be quite tragic
if life weren't so fundamentally alterable
legs to walk
mouth to speak
mind to reason
heart to know

timing is everything
but timing has to be fucked with
from time to time
in order for progress, life, change
to come

walk
speak
reason
know
now

how did it all come to this?
not agoraphobic
but trapped
somehow
useless
sad