The Bohemian Republic of Venezuela

I can see sleep
Working its daily death
On my shutter eyelids
As two blank screens
Incessantly illuminate
This stupid pitch-black space.

Always connected always wired maybe happy always

And it's times like these
When I dream of returning
But I die every day.
Although there, like a patient undead
Remains outside, in the outside world.

And so I will wake up.

And so I will sprint til I spot shelter
The gentle arms of academia
Where even no man has a home.

here