Wanting to be everything
And feeling like nothing

I lay on the floor,
Staring at the ceiling
My thoughts like a pinball machine
In an old arcade, loud voices
And sneakers squeaking
Closing time is always past due

The ceiling turns into a map
Of everywhere I’d like to be
With to do lists and bills piled on top
Unread books and pictures from the past
All these things I can see,
I could touch and smell
All of the conversations I might hear

But I fear,
I’ll never make it off of this floor