Dreams Of Collapse

Maybe I'm not the only one who dreams of collapse. Nothing so dramatic as suicide; simply collapse. Let friends drift away, never leave home, accumulate dust. Spiral down, let beard grow, observe the world from a distance if at all.

"Be responsible." Of course. I take my filial duty seriously. I must make something of myself before I collapse. Or at least erect walls between myself and the truly collapsed: the dregs, the rap fans, the hopeless. Erect them just high enough to avoid bringing shame upon the family name. Then I can collapse in peace.

Every animal dreams of burrowing a hole and burying itself alive. My coffin will be a bookcase. I will fall asleep reading and never wake up. My bones will crumble. My penis will retreat into its skin. My words will form protective porcupine thorns. I will scavenge the ruins of my former self, sifting through memories in the absence of novelty.

This is my temptation. Maybe some men feel the urge to kill or rape or watch sports. I feel the urge to collapse. I am driven to dive to the floor. I want to find a quiet spot underneath the carpet. I lie in the bath and hope to never get up. I await the disappearance of phone calls. Lord, save me from nirvana.