I woke up at eight
Ate breakfast before it was too late

Wrote some poetry with a pen
Then took a nap at half past ten

I woke up again at one
Went outside and basked in the sun

I ate a big lunch at two
Before I tied my left shoe

I arrived there at a quarter to three
I was at the library filled with glee

I left the old books around six
Wandered around and kicked some sticks

I walked home at eight
Since it was getting too dark and late

I ate a snack at nine
And talked to some friends online

I put on my pajamas at ten
Then I went to sleep and repeated the cycle again

It slips through our fingers.
At the end of it all,
there will be only a few
questions.

Did you love enough?
Did you give everything you could?
Did you spend your life on what mattered?

It rules us all.
Careful it does not pass you by
while you are busy sleeping.

One empty nightstand and a closet half-full,
dim the lights and don't bother
to draw back the covers before you
surrender to the time.
The windows are drab and unclean
because you've lost the ambition to see clearly.
The sink is cluttered with the ghosts
of your last meal together and the rotting smell
filling the kitchen
is your favorite reminder that you didn't really
enjoy her cooking anyway.

She's a suicide bomb
Ready to go off at any minute
Waiting for the person who will push her over the edge
Into a black abyss full of tears and self-hate
Exploding once she reaches rock bottom
Lashing out at those around her
Trying to make them feel what she feels
Giving back the hate she was given
And causing the same tears that she shed

The first time my lips touched a cigarette,
I cringed at the taste but I ****** and puffed the toxins anyways.
smooth.
It was menthol.
I didn't know what that meant.
I didn't care.
I just wanted to be cool with my friends.
They were 14,
I was 12.
'Mature for my age'.
I had fitted in.
But was smoking that cigarette really, really worth it?
I haven't talked to those 'friends' in 6 years.