When your day
is a series of clocks ticking.
Every millisecond, minute, hour—
binary counts—disorganised clicking.

Every heart and head pound
after sips of coffee and energy drinks
high on codes and calories,
pixels, powernaps,
and flickering
imageries.

A mere reflection
of this deadline-driven age,
where waking up like this everyday
is no longer a phase.

Ad hoc palpitations,
stacked one after another
like corrupted lies and files,
until one is renamed:
"dead".

return NotFound();
// Self Not Found

📅

story wrote in pen
can't be erased but can write
over write the past

you dance
ill be the shadows
in your hair at the party
ill be the tinsel
on your dress
or the embers
lingering from the fireplace

you smile
ill be the sweet fruit tea
in your red cup
and the lollipop stick
you chew
long after
the candy is gone