Tapioca

starting from sleep and i cannot recall being sober.
call up my friends and i plead with them not to come over.
the fragments of lead in my soup will lead to carcinoma.
as i stir my tea and i wish i could have tapioca.

and i never make my appointments with stress.
the things that i strove for i now want much less.
and i always make my visitations with the floor.
and i only wish i could feel anything anymore.

driving to work when i start to feel i'm pulled asunder.
pull to the side of the road and then sink into slumber.
when johnny law wakes me i just stare up at him in wonder.
they call me to say don't come in and i just sink back under.

the pills that i've taken for years have now stolen my vision.
just to survive until i die has now become my mission.
and to me it just seems like mortality is a transition.
a placating transfer from apathy into perdition.