Overstimulated
It matters not
what might happen tomorrow.
Could be a world wide
Jurassic Spark party
with Snoop Dinosaur rolling up trees
the size of brachiosaurus necks
and Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons
lighting them
for all I know.
Could be the last day on earth
where Jesus and Muhammad
and Pikachu
and Manuel from Fawlty Towers
and Voldemort
and the Devil
come up from the heavens
to hand everyone their tickets
for the next movie.
Could be the day
Neapolitan ice cream
finally unites the kingdoms of earth
but then proceeds to assign each person
to one of three different class brackets
depending on what flavour they are.
Could be the first day
of a brave new world
where Jonathan Rhys Meyers,
Susan Sarandon, Timothy Dalton,
Graham Norton and Ainsley Harriott
are democratically elected
to conjure up
a new flavour of ice cream.
Could be the day
they finally invent the matrix.
Could be the day
we finally realise
we’re already living in the matrix.
Could be just another Saturday.
Could be a flaming Monday.
But still,
it matters not
what might
happen tomorrow.
Because if I don’t get to sleep soon,
then I
won’t be fucking there.
