matthew p haubert

Tired of missing so many days,
Am I thirty-five… or sixty-eight?
Can’t tell.
Body’s so worn down
People I once knew — they double take
Just to see if it’s really me.
(Is it really me?)

Missing hours,
Time just slips,
Thinking the same same thought —
And decades pass me,
Unresolved,
Definition of insanity.

I wish I could rearrange time and history —
Make my parents never meet,
Turn myself into dust… instantly.
And maybe then,
My brain would finally bleed out
All this pain,
Disintegrate instantly.

I just don’t wanna grow any older than I have.
Flying right in front of my face,
Missing everything.
Wake up one day,
Fifty.
Sixty.
Same thoughts torturing me —
The exact same ones from when I was sixteen.
Wasting my life,
Living in my head,
Stuck inside…

And soon you should find,
My name right beside insanity,
Referenced in Webster’s next edition,
The perfect description
Of someone defined by crazy.

Schizophrenic.
Manic depressed.
Borderline.
I check all the boxes.

Institutionalized —
But inside my own head.

And I ask…When will I be free?
When will I be free?
When…
will I…
be free?
When will I be free
When will I be free
When will I be free
When will I be free
When
Will
I
Be
Free?