Oddly enough,
I find myself in a strange predicament,
my appearance does not seem to reflect my age,
but sadly my habits and limitations do.
I am old in spirit,
grown weary in a modern age,
tired of doing the things that I must,
the things that are expected of me,
and even the things I dislike,
and this,
I fear,
will not serve me.
I am yet impatient and impassioned,
a rebellious heart and a withering mind,
two things that fit quite nicely,
but to no great effect,
and so I dream while awake,
and live while sleeping.
I am passionately obsessed with the mundane,
simple little things,
and often fail to separate moments in time,
and when my mind wanders,
I dream while standing,
and the world goes dim,
a dis-associative calm spreads,
stilling my nails bitten to the quick,
hushing my breath,
and the nervous chatter surrounding,
as if to say,
what a novel world that is.