This Familiar Sense of Nonsense

It’s kind of like how
when I was little I could fall asleep to my
mother banging around in the kitchen,
making dinner for my father when he got home.
Not a lullaby, but a sort of lulling, crashing noise.
This nonsense, an aching sort of clattering in my brain,
meaningless meaning, alphabet soup,
scattered possibilities. I know that if I tried
I could make words out of it all, but why bother?
You’d just eat it anyways.
Familiar in an eerie, déjà vu kindof way,
the sense that there was at some point sense,
but now there is only non, nonsense, non-meaning,
non- importance, non-words.
You’re talking, but all I hear is blah blah blah.
Its so familiar it puts me to sleep, in my dreams
I solve the world’s problems all while feeding you
alphabet soup, the words seem to spell themselves
into your mouth without any effort.