Brooding

how nice it would be to
be unavailable
to be sheltered and
strictly unbearable
laughing heartily
and yet be hopelessly despicable

how nice it would be to
be passionate
to be completely and utterly
irrational
to dive into something headfirst
that is completely intangible
and to bounce back with a
vivid spirit and mannerism

how nice it would be
to be godly
shockingly beautiful and undeniably holy
without a mistake nor a flaw against
a historic perfection of painstaking purity

how nice it would be
to be normal
to be the quintessential model of
happiness
the boring nine-to-five and a modest
modular at the end of a cul-de-sac
with a family filling the the house with laughter
and the moon and the stars sparing the night of its never-ending black

but for now I'm just a
wordy drunk