Status Updates From My Poems Won't Change the W...

If I turn my desk around
my thoughts will take a different tack;
the path to the sofa will be slower.
Before when I was stuck
I'd go to sleep without warning.
I'd plunge into the cushions and my thoughts,
dreaming themselves free, would graze
here and there among the countless blades of grass.

After years of torment years of regret
what I discover and what I have left
is a banality fresh and hard to digest.

Everyone has a mystery,
mine is headaches,
why do they always reawaken love in me?
Come, my love, come, I have a headache.