On this side of the world
I lay in my bed with an infinite scroll
the scroll has prophecies
that make me anxious, sad, distressed
the scroll has spectacles
that my eyes were never supposed to have
the scroll doesn’t let me sleep
I worry about people I’ve never met
On this side of the world
I meet a friend for coffee
and talk about my future plans
we talk about guilt and regret
we poke the bubble we’ve built for ourselves
To her, how do I bring up my worries
that don’t even affect me
she tells me to appreciate the good life
On this side of the world
I am tired of explaining the different sides to people who are good at hearing and forgetting
I am tired of rewriting texts to sound like I care less
It’s not my blood, or my flesh
Then why are my lungs wrapped in tourniquets