Veins are rivers, stormy and dangerous

Veins are rivers, stormy and dangerous. Eyes that are waiting, eyes that are ravenous, Hands grown painfully weary and worn. Sunken eyeballs drill hard at the world, forlorn. Shoulders hunched like a hanger, crooked and bent. As always saddled with the world's whole weight. Fenced off from everyone by chain-link wire — Legs drag him to bed, to unwind and retire. Night has covered the buzzing head. Thoughts, lines, ideas — man, it's so great. Seeing dreams is the lot of the peacefully sleeping, But he craves his own, the real ones, Made by a mind that is sober and sound. If he dozes — he sleeps very light. Forget a mouse — not even a photon slips by. The day calls him to feed the tamagotchi. He, obedient, giving it all he had, Waited for dawn — for its first glimmer to show. The day calls with the sun's joyful cry To build the world and dream big, dream high.