And tell me I’m doing well
You’re doing well, they say
As if they have some insight into my wellness
That I’m not privy to
I wouldn’t be surprised
There isn’t much I am privy to these days
The pills say I’m happy
And so I’m happy
The pills say I’m level
And so I’m level
I’m stable
I’m solid
I eat solid food
I eat, that’s the point
Any food will do
Even the crap they feed me
Like the burnt chicken
And mushy peas
The maids bring me the pills
The chef brings me the food
The butler stands next to me
To make sure I don’t find myself
Attracted to the knives
They wheel me around my house
Like I’m a child in a carriage
This is the room you do this in
This is the room for sitting
This is the room for talking
This is the room where you visit with guests
Although there are never any guests
They think my memory is faulty
When actually, my memory is fine
But my will is being challenged
By my own lack of enthusiasm
The servants—maids, butlers, everyone
Have a hobby they enjoy
They like telling me
How rich I am
You’re lucky, they say
You’re lucky you’re so rich
And can afford to have people
Take care of you
But then they leave me
Believing I’m trapped with whatever’s
Locked behind my eyes
They close the curtains
They turn out the lights
They forget about me
Where there were candles
Now there are photos of candles
Where there were portraits
Now there are hooks and faded paint
Where there was a window
There’s a wall
Where there was a bedroom
There’s a washroom
Where there were flowers
There are empty cages
A phone rings
But no one answers
A clock chimes
But time goes back
Back to halls I used to dance through
Back to tables with friends around them
Back to twelve seconds ago
And back twelve years further than that
Aren’t I lucky that I’m rich, I think?
Only the rich can afford
To live off their memories
Someone comes to get me
And only my body is there
This time they’ve finally convinced me to vacate
This time they’re on their own
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