the carpet crawl in poetry

we are orphans
to our endorphins
we’re just no fun
so let’s just run

we’re beholden
to our emotions
in slow motion
with old notions

and we’re stranded
empty-handed
a crash landing
no one planned it

we can’t understand it

we’re filled brim up
with antiquated dreams
and inadequate schemes
perpetually half-empty cups
cut grass waiting to turn into hay
via spent sitcom cliches

but the sun won’t shine
in proper waltz-time
the songs of the spheres
won’t confirm to our fears
afraid to admit
that we always gave a shit
I’ll lay it down
we always did

since we were kids
unfit to quit
so here we sit
orphans to wit