Also not art.

A poem for you:

"Daydreaming"

Running my thumb along my jawbone
I can't help but think of my
self as a skeleton. Long dead,
long enough that death is no longer
sad, or strange, or unexpected.

My skeletal self will do things my
fleshy self never did, like wear
a top hat, tap dance, listen to
heavy metal. Heartbreak will be
a thing of the past, my bones
have selective memory.

Eventually I will tire of
clattering down cobbled roads.
I will find a garden somewhere,
lay down inconspicuously and
imagine what it would be like to be alive.