Golden Afternoons were not meant for me.

To no-one.
If I'm not happy, I'll die.
IFF you love me, I'll swim and not sink.
If I can't sleep, I'll slaughter the sheep,
that lie mockingly upon the lattice.

If I do not speak,
Do I disappear?
If I do not sleep,
I disappear.
Holes, holes, holes, holes, holes, but in me appear.

Others lie on a golden lawn, enjoying a happiness not meant for me.
Away from me.
Out of reach, behind a glass.

They sip their gilded beer,
beery
bronzey.
They sip it quicker yet and then sink beneath the haze of their own oblivion.
And yet I sit alone, apart from them, as if some stain has marked me out as not being one of them. As if I could not be happy even if I tried.
Golden Afternoons were not meant for me.