Routine will destroy us, if we let it.
The days speed by until they blur completely
And not one is distinguishable from the last.
These are the Tuesdays and the Wednesdays of life
Relegated to the past before they can happen,
Buffer space for when you can actually feel alive.
We all kill time waiting for a weekend to come
For the end, when we can die and be reborn.
They say we spend a third of our lives sleeping,
But I say we spend our whole lives struggling to wake up
Self-destruction is the only way we feel, anymore.
Mortality confirmed,
My fear of death gives way to a fear of living.
Why do I only feel
When I can no longer think?
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