And I'm serious.
And I'm delusional.
Self-centered.
Dependent. Ritual.

Creeping water, unorganised. UFOs stacked incorrectly.
Simple work, simplest work. I stay stiff, I stare, thinking.
Save memory for thoughts, not organisation. Organised?
In the future this comes to me now, no future? Sinking...

I feel high.. high?
I'm not here, within the sky.
I don't feel like I can sigh.
Without a special mortal, die.

I can create my own figures, can't I. I created you.
Clinging to special friend, Milla, hopeless romantics.
Everyone around us, never quiet, working, speaking.
Metal chairs, unsuitable. Comfort, recliner. Clicks.

My thoughts outside...
Paralysed, mind works.
I am no worker. Really.
Another one begs, lurks.