Woke up late, called in sick. If I go in, man, I’m not going to make it through today, through another day when tomorrow seems so far away. This morning the sky is a particular shade of grey. / I try to sleep but I can feel it moving through me, through every cell, in every vein, through my heart and to my brain. Outside my window it sure looks a lot like rain. // Ghosts move through me every minute, every day. If I close my eyes maybe they’ll go away. // I feel I’m trapped in a well, I scream my throat hoarse for rope or help but the only sound that comes is that of my own faint echo. And up above freedom taunts in the form of blue skies and a golden sun, and down in my man made cell it’s dark and lonesome and so, so cold. New York is nice this time of year, so I’m told. / Or maybe I’m on an island surrounded by miles of ocean of my own creation, and I’m washed up on the beach. Every grain of sand’s another bad memory. This one’s a girl, I should’ve been kinder. This one’s a moment, I should’ve been wiser. This one’s a sentiment I should’ve expressed, this one’s a city that I should’ve left. This one’s a mother never appreciated, this one’s all of the anxiety she created. This one’s a father who died too soon, who never got to see all the things I would do. This one’s every opportunity missed for everything I wish that I’d said to him. This one’s how I never learned how to swim. // Ghosts move through me every minute, every day. If I close my eyes maybe they’ll go away.