I keep my head down while staring at the ground. Till my eyes dry out or they return to the color they were when I was born. So bleary, and teary, bloodshot and red. Nothing like the blue they were before.
I don’t know where this is all going but I know how this will all end.
I prefer the flame to the cold hard ground. You can spread my ashes in the wind to carry me across the lands, and across the seas. Into the times and spaces we’re unable to see…
As I age the energy escapes and I fail to remember every time, and I miss the chime, the starting bell to the race to defeat time but I can’t change the past. I’m tired of fighting the clock. It runs me down.
I can’t stand all this noise that was created by some hive mentality.
I can’t stand the crowds of people, shifting incessantly and buzzing, all I hear is their squawking mimicry, I grow tired of the constant ring.
I keep my head down so you can’t count out loud the lines that signify the days of sleep I’ve been missing, not counting sheep for fear of feeling insane.
If I ever said I’d understood the meaning of regret I’d have to say I lied through my missing teeth.
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