The “lines on my face and hands” Alice sang about on “18” 

have made their way into my reality

Spent so much time to get so little done

Blinded by too much visionary to see

I’d say there must be a reason I’m here but life has never made much sense; even tho I’ve paid my penitence Buddha’s first noble truth

latched on early in my youth

Story of my experience

crumbles into a pile of surrendered grandiose unrelatative-ness

Ah, alone drifting through space and calling it hell

Plunging thru nightmares 

dreaming of wishing myself well