my syndrome

maybe i’m wasting my youth on a bed,

and all the grand houses i own

exist only in miniature, in my head

maybe it’s all part of my syndrome

but at the end of this long day

when the sun hits the roofs of suburbia

i think that my green light

glows in the shape of a home

with it all my potential to be anyone

to somebody else

sets down into bed in a cookie cutter

room of a perfect square

each time i’m blown down by

the elements out there