My fantasy:
to live a life,
in a green giant house,
walls constructed of smooth green paper,
round circles in the center of each brick,
with a tiny number on the corner of each,
stating its value,
lush green lawns with presidents on them,
pathways with millions,
pillows of hundreds,
blankets of the highest number ever,
a life where I’m carefree,
the concept of money foreign,
I have what I need,
I have what I want,
I’m happy.
I’m drowning in a sea of debt,
guilt creeps up on me,
for therapy,
for nutritionists,
for psychiatrists,
for medication,
for life.
Wouldn’t it be cheaper,
If I wasn’t HERE?!
So why don’t they just let me die,
in my green grave,
under piles of ones, tens, hundreds and thousands.
HEEEEEEEEEELP! This is not very good but its too bad. Whatever.