Another day, another roundabout of shenanigans. As the hour progress, I do not. It seems as if every marking hour, minutes I am withheld. There is a sort of demonic laugh as the clock moves its maniacal hands as if to tick me off… and not in the touches of humour way.
Is my worth put in through time? Or the amount of crap I can scrap down in the minute of languishing distress of the bullshit that is to entail if the count hits 0?
Is my validity “evaluated” based on how well I am to execute all for all but my own and be burdened by trivial matters of others? It’s not to say I am a bigoted ore for wanting to move on to more pressing issues of my own, taking a sip of fresh thoughts, and hope. But, dear Murph and cheese forbid I should allow myself a moment. The clock has spoken and so have the judges that it’s not enough, myself or any of it.
My hollow wants echo to let go, to need for that thirst of desire, deserve. Here we are…
Another day, the same present is lived.