are the lights coming on?
is the sun coming out?
anything to fill my spirit.

i’m plotting again.
i’m afraid:
	they’ll look through me.
	they’ll know i’m lying.

i just want to run away,
to where they won’t know
i’m failing.

i know this isn’t okay.
i know, okay?
i can’t help—
myself.

anything so that
people
will have to ask
plainly,
the question
i fear i will deny.