You're overstimulated everyday like, if you blink too hard you'll miss everything, and everyone is on one accord and you don't want to be left out.
Bored and rushed at the same time, the clock can't pass fast enough but for what?
Where are you going?
A part of you doesn't care but somewhere in that bubble called instant there's a spec of care. You care, you always care.
In a world full of faces you still feel alone like you're wasted, distant, invisible and shifted.
You try to go to sleep to start all over again. The older you get, the more tired you get, the less sleep you get. Eyes constantly tease each other but can't commit. You come to disdain the morning rise and fall deeply for the dark moon, ties.
Nocturnal is the new normal. Time keeps running, days keep coming, moments keep going.
Floats further and further away on some hazy once upon a time thing. Fairytales, the joyfulness of pretend and carefree. When rules to protect you about how life really be, PBS kids was your guiding spree.
You couldn't wait to be 10 add 8 more so you could finally be grown. Now can't remember what it was like to run on concrete floors. Swing on swings, feet touching the tips of blue skies. Sliding down the slide and hoping five more minutes isn't announced before going inside.
Laughs and nativity.
Like an ice block on a spring river bed in April. And you're still wondering are you able . . . Is this current life?