I often find myself rushed, day to day
Wondering when I'll find time to collect my thoughts
To sit down and write out something
Pound out a few notes on the piano
Rekindle with friends I've ebbed from.
Is this the time now to do such things?
Has my schedule allowed it
Or am I procrastinating?
If it's a moment free my hands wander
Lust themselves touching this cellphone
Searching for more and more.
Lost are my days of huddled reflection
They are as far away as my childhood
And only flowing further.
To wish for something, anything, would be a waste
And time, we know, is never to be wasted.
Time is money
And money is life.
Years ago I'd sit here, starving for blank paper.
Now I struggle to sputter a dot,
Fat with the day, too full to bother.
It's a shame, really,
It used to be waiting for time to pass
Now it's wanting it to slow.
To say my life is full, is a ghastly over-exaggeration.
I just can't keep track of where my feet are going.
Somewhere, something is happening, and I
Me, I need to see it.
Everything stops if I'm not there
I fear it stopping.
I haven't sat on a rock, dancing with the sun
In so long it seems like a dream.
Some unattainable nostalgic feeling
Of sitting in a room, laughing at jokes I would today dismiss.
Coloring my way into emotion,
Feeling out peoples feelings,
Bragging of terrific stunts,
Being so scared sleep never comes.
It's not unhappiness, this plague.
Something else, more dreadful, fills my lungs.
Some realization that dreams are only attainable when sleeping.
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