for good living.

lights are burning, circling round the bay. from space it's all the same, innocuous and small. the parties, the beer stained floors, the slurred, misdirected words, and myself, solitary and slain on a couch. the lights are pretty and circle the bay, from space all the same. one speck. the one reason i don't fully hate myself. blip. the houses, the roads, the dogs, the people, the grass. all the same. i still can't get up. i'm drowned on the inside and weigh too much. all my insides floating, weightless - my solar system. i cannot speak. all my friends, lost or still fooled, stand as one, nothing. still, all the same. people walking moving speaking dying, all the same, from space. one speck. one life, innocuous and small.