Asleep

I should be doing something else
Sleeping or even living
but instead I'm just writing poetry
The Smiths on repeat,
no hands on the steering wheel,
with my foot on the gas.

God, I hate the Smiths.
This is the soundtrack to this exact moment in my life,
but twenty years ago, if you understand what I mean.
I can't appreciate this, it's a carbohydrate too complex for this generation,
or too simple for that matter.
The Smiths have been an anachronism for as long as I've been alive,
but they still understand what's happening.
They can see the hate in our eyes
and they know it doesn't make us better men,
and they know that change happens suddenly but with ample warning,
like the ticking of a clock.
Our lives are shaped out of the tiny castles we build
as the sound destroys the peace between the past and the coming silences.
But it's our friendships which are defined by the silence that surrounds us.

So please come knocking, next time the noise is too much to bare.