A complex product of the age, eyes loses focus with bowels weak. I cannot stomach all of these lies, each and every cliché I speak. I am left weightless, lacking a mooring. No anchor forged to condemn, me to the ground. I am left weightless, lacking a mooring. Nothing can hold me down, into the ground. Swollen. I’m swollen. Swollen with ego, Swollen with time, with mother’s blurry words and the slogans that litter my mind. And as I stare, through painted faces into your bleached out cheeks, forget your name, forget a face. Boundaries pale to memory as we embrace. Try to remember nothing has changed, Here in these arms, this is my home. Here in these arms, all that I have. Here in these arms, I sleep.