So far

So this is how it feels to be a boogeyman.

It's easier to dream when the world seems wide from where you stand.

A few birthdays later, you realize how small the world actually is.

Dreams are pennies you lose one by one to pay for survival kits.

You fight it. Summon the little boy in you. Ask him to remind you how the world looked like.

He is incoherent. He speaks in a different language. His jargon is alien. Plutonian. Or Pleiadian. Probably from Crab Nebula. You can't tell anymore. You can't remember.

And then "tired" becomes an understatement. The little boy gets frustrated with you; so do your friends. Little boy runs away with your friends. You sit and wait. They never come back.

Guilt, like a disgusting rat, finds a home in your backpack. You let it. You punish yourself.

You begin to make do what with your utter lack of whatever.

You begin to make do with the small space.

You begin to make do with the dwindling number of friends.

The number of acquaintances swell.

You take care not to offend people who do not understand.

You offend them anyway.

Your number of casualties rise.

You try to make sure your shirt's always clean.

But you forget your pants. Your shoes. Your name.

You're the village idiot.

You're a constant pending case of everything.

You go to the office.

You tie yourself to a swivel chair.

Smile and Stay there.

Like everyone else.