I'm too young to be dead,
dying, here in R.E.M.'s Rockville,
shacked up with playboy models
in a suburban home
playing with paper
with riches and being annoyed
by technical glitches
like my life and career
two months in, and I'm dead as a dog,
and bored as sin
plastic women walk down the street
in my rearview mirror
and I think of them fucking
and crying and dying alone
in a room wallpapered
with flowers sixty years down
the road
I think of my lover
and of thousands of sunsets
waves, oceans, and deserts
and I want to be near her