The Disillusionment Of Eric Morrison Poem by Raj Dronamraju

I can feel your breath on the back of my neck
These close confines are nothing new
I am nodding disapprovingly at your funeral selfie
I am tired of brainless ambition

It's Saturday morning, I don't want to go to the gym, I don't want to go to the store
I just want to sit shellshocked somewhere in public drinking coffee staring at my phone with the compulsion of a drug addict

But I can remember a time when I leaped out of bed full of energy that must be dispersed
The good type of energy, that which leads to self-improvement and getting things done and healthy effort

But now I drag myself through a tangible life that feels less real than an intangible life
I feel like I am wearing binoculars all the time
But with the lens cover still on
I don't notice any difference