I exist in increments.
Scheduled spaces of time
subtly stretched along
the contour of my mind
like fences bordering my essence.
I am the Prometheus of my self made reality,
television like chains binding
and raptor gnawing
at this mind of mine.
My couch my mountain
and sublime design,
a fitting sentence to an attempt at enlightenment.
The internet
distorts reality in all this time spent alone.
My basement is my bat cave
and my bat cave is my home,
hub and hive.
It doesn’t even feel like I’m alive,
I’m just just a drone.
My phone’s silent
day and night blend together
as blackness and ultraviolet
time passes like glass blown,
a stream of liquid slowly pouring
ignoring the outside world
because this townhouse is my oyster
and this basement is my pearl.
Nothing moves outside these four walls.
My cage is eternally unchanging
I rearrange the furniture
to create a semblance of difference
in this mundane existence
where all I do means little.
I haven’t shaved lately
and stubble growing is a sign
that there is time
outside my basement.
Facebook exists to prove that
there are faces besides mine outside my basement.
I exist in increments
of Skyrim and dogwalking
of HBO, Cinemax,
angsty poetry
and writer’s block.
I exist in seconds passing into hours
on the clock measured
on a weekly scale.
Living on tapwater, bent up cigarettes,
and saltine crackers gone stale.
I exist in a self inflicted non existence,
today passes into tomorrow with little difference
it feels like an outside world is forbidden.
I am the self enslaved prisoner to these increments I live in.