James Friedman
I try to wake in the morning
But more often than not it’s noon
It’s classes and cold outside
and the halls are filled
No lines, just flow
Entropy juxtaposed brickwork that’s stood for centuries now
I circle in the stairwell and wonder
How have we come so far
Only to wonder where we will go
I eat
Others eat
I eat alone
At a table near the window through which I see people that look like they belong in an
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Colorful clothing
Vibrant laughter
The scent of money
Plastic people everywhere
And I wonder if they ever get cold
Or if they just don’t show it
Perhaps I’m so cold I’ve lost my feel
Staring at the ceiling so many times
The popcorn starts to melt into a channel
Like staring at a screen full of static
If I could I’d ride the waves of black and white out to meet the sun where it sets
So I wouldn’t have to admire it from a distance anymore
Maybe then I would be there
Beyond the glass
I want to go where they say you go
I want to be what they say you’ll be
I want to smile like they say you do
When you get to places like these
But nothing outside my body can make me feel that way
I waiver to even enter the stairwell
When I set foot in the elevator
When I enter the classroom
I stare ad nauseam
Thinking the harder I look
The more I’ll be there
And all trace of being ends
When the lecture does
They teach many things
They don’t teach many more
I will be everything they tell me to be
Before I will ever be content
Some people say it’s beautiful to be broken
But I don’t know what I have to say for myself
I go back to my room
And practice a smile in the mirror
And I notice the scent
Of burning plastic