you won’t make it out alive
or do anything good
but your anxiety about being wrong
or, rather
your selfish desire to always be right
will drive you to feel good
about what you attempted to do

but that’s not enough

and i am writing this poem about you
but you think it’s about me
we both may be wrong
but the actual problem is that
we don’t live in the same universe

we don’t see the same reality

while i’m looking at a dirty room
all you see is a bad day
and i’m trying to find a place to start
when you’re searching for a bottle opener

and i can’t make the sun go down
but i can drive east, real fast
that’s what i’m attempting to do, man
no matter how dark it gets

you can come too