He wakes up each day
like the first of May
and walks down to
the corner store

No headlines to read
in his pocket they plead
but he buys flowers for
someone he's never met before

The dust in the air
clouds reality (to be fair)
but a wave of his hand
makes it all right

Slowly he returns
flowers in hand
and he retires
to his house for the night

The picture in his heart
doesn't match the one in his brain
And it's fuzzier than the one
he has seen on the screen

But back at home
he sits in the dark
of what was yesterday
and what tomorrow has to offer

Alone he waits, he anticipates

Tomorrow's haze
filters through his eyes
Another day comes in focus
that looks much the same

The chair holds him
for a second he questions
But he propels himself
into a fate he's all too familiar with

Alone he capitulates, he reiterates