Loop

Write.

Write.

Write.

Write.

Write.

Right when I decide. For every letter is where I want it to be. I'm realizing where I cannot
confide.

Where I cannot, place the thing where I grow so tired of carrying. The thing that I hold in my hands, that makes me seethe so deep. It hurts so much more, when I believe I see a shelf, a ledge to put down that which will bury, when it is no more a mirage or an image, something imaginary.

I need to learn, to stop putting costumes on people. Because they're not who I say they are, no matter how hard it is breathing. I know time is ticking and I'm losing sand. But life isn't an hour glass more or less a window. Where time doesn't matter because who values a clock? A second more than a fine food, an hour more than a poem, a day more than a friend?

Doesn't matter? I'll fool myself soon. To thinking it's hopeless, that i'm beyond all that recovery. Making myself realize, that i'm not that bad, until I realize, I'm still sad. So with broken records, I'll be in a loop. So I love life, but if you ask me, death can't come too soon.