$100 Tip

The buggy code of my internal workings
Keeps synced with my bad timing.
That’s flaw.
The dead spot in between our ears keeps spreading.
When we stand up, no one comes to ask,
«Why is this backwards?»
The alarm doesn’t go off after you’re awake.
And especially that feeling you get
When you meet someone who looks like you,
That one hundred dollar tip,
And a town, or a family,
Without enough money to keep itself alive.