I can't think right [now]

I don’t see the world the way I think I’m supposed to
I don’t think the way I see the rest of the world think.
I say the words I think are right, but they always feel wrong to me.
I say the wrong things at the wrong times and I can’t tell my left from my
right.
I dropped a penny on the floor yesterday and when I bent to pick it up
I saw everything upside down and I thought it a much better place,
to consider that gravity pulls all of us up and we’re pushing on the surface just
trying to break free and breathe air that’s not so stale that doesn’t
taste so much like other people and feel so much like sorry sorry sorry
again
I said that I wanted to start writing again because I had something to say but
I should have said something different I meant
I want to start writing again because I have something to feel to feel
to feel anything at all and I want you to feel that too or at least
to tell me you do so I don’t feel so alone.
To my friend buried deep or already too far gone,
to the poet pushing on the walls of the cage to the
man that picks up the penny I left behind and thinks he has good luck:
what was the first thing you thought when you woke up?
Was is this? was it everything you’ve ever felt beat like egg whites and left to dry and crack and
make a metaphor for me?
was it anything at all?
I didn't write the words I thought I was supposed to to mean what I meant to think.
I didn’t mean the words I thought I would write and I didn’t want you to know
anything but
now you do.
I don’t see the world the way I think I’m supposed to.
When I close my eyes, I don’t see anything at all.