I Am Stretch Armstrong Deflating.

I am shotgunning the words coming out your mouths:
Binge drinking.
High sociability.
Tepid living rooms and chairs
Becoming more uncomfortable
With the passing time.
Looking out windows,
No one understands brain waves;
Evolution never presented us with antennas.
On all fours,
Searching for meaning while muttering the gangster rap lyrics:
"I'll shoot y'all in the motherfuckin face with a blue steel nine
While blowin the finest trees
Click-clack in my hood and you niggas will come out looking diseased."
Not making any sense.
Slurring speech stumbling into family portraits on the walls.
Broken glass coating smiles.
Dust sticking to vomit.
Too ashamed,
Thinking of past delusions while driving reckless
In a Pontiac through a downpour of foreign limbs
Coated in grease.
Hydroplaning into the grill of an 18-wheeler.
I couldn't wait.
Five months.
I apologize for speeding in hazardous conditions
Containing low visibility.
Exhausted.
I am Stretch Armstrong deflating.
Rubber burst.
Bits of teeth rotting in bad breath. 
Drowning, 
Face down in green goo.
Thinking about what it's made of
And not coming up with an answer.
I will stay silent.
I will not move.
Spaceman sheets over my head in quarantine.
Flippant and uninspired,
The room will spin and lose definition
Until I forget the contours of the earth,
And I believe that is the best I can do
Right now.