i'm just killing time until i die.

all of this is a ruse.
use me/ i'll use you too--
in fact, let's all use each other until
we're all used up and nobody has anything left to give.

the menial doodles that take up this life/
words working side jobs to pay for the night.

{none of us has money--
but poor is cool these days,
it means you don't give a fuck.}

i'm hallucinating a stereotype.
it moves slowly past my arm on the edge of the precipice i call my desk--
nothing gets done here.
just shadows pretending to be shadows,
following a darkness of thought that moves freely around the abyss.