don’t let the ball drop on unrealized fantasies and unfantasied realizations. they’re giving birth to a new year while we’re still clutching onto the ears of last’s casket. they’re in a depression but we like zoloft suppressed it.
reality is a mirror and i’m looking through it. my reflection is lost among the blue cloudscape. in a dark brown forest, monkeys have no place to escape. and i can’t climb the trees so i burn the forest down. but i’m down with the fact that the old year is back. because i lack the attention span to count backwards from 10 in spanish. and i know that a year will always have at least one blemish. but until i’m gone from this earth, this year is unfinished.