Adults give themselves bed times,

as if they missed parents forcing them to go to sleep,

and it's always too early.

 

Pretend you are retiring to have sex

or read something enlightening

or because there's enough sleep to make you beautiful

-although there is an irony in someone dreaming of you prettier – 

but your life sucks.

 

It's getting late and that

means I should pack it in

hit the hay

or just punch in the dick any hope of leading a life

that is better than average and somehow exciting

because somehow not having a life became acceptable

and we are all guilty of it.

 

Pissing away our lives on television shows that

never leave us satisfied and never

write a 

proper 

ending

and video games that are endless pits of time-wasting

or maybe you read,

surely you don't write,

because only the depressed, the fags, the romantics

– and maybe all three at once –

would actually write.

 

Nothing has value

or is valuable but that's not a nice

social

or popular thing to say

unless you want to eat meds for the next fifty years

but only a few at a time,

wouldn't want to miss all this and the fantastic wonderful explosive amazing WAMAZING enlightening things to come.